


The Dreams of Hollow Planets

by BroadwayStarletQueen



Series: Games of Broken Stars Trilogy [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Name, Trenzalore, Weddings, craziness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 16:31:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BroadwayStarletQueen/pseuds/BroadwayStarletQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor barely has time to deal with his newly discovered daughter before he is faced with revealing his deadliest secret.  Joined by River, Clara, Sherlock, and John, the Doctor is trapped in the Fields of Trenzalore and has to find a way to escape his fate before he is forced to reveal something that could destroy the universe--his name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, lovely people! So, with the Name of the Doctor coming up and all these spoilers swirling around, I wanted to get out this story, which I wrote as the sequel to Games of Broken Stars. It's canon up to Nightmare in Silver, I'm pretty sure. With Clara's real identity coming out and Moffat's own Trenzalore story a week away, I wanted to share my take on it before it became terribly AU. I hope you enjoy!

Need your assistance immediately. Very dangerous. Bring weapons. SH

Where are you? JW

Florist’s. Mycroft is forcing me to pick flower arrangements for the reception. SH

I’ll bring your revolver, then. JW

Much appreciated. Make haste, if you will. He’s talking of hydrangeas. SH

Hydrangeas, John. SH

John? SH

John still received the panicked texts but decided to let Sherlock squirm for a bit. Each message made him smile—that familiar smile that told everyone exactly who he was texting. The surgeons at the hospital recognized it. Molly had come to loathe it against her own principles. It was the quintessential Sherlock-Is-Texting smile that told everyone how insanely smug John Watson was that Sherlock still needed him around.  
But that was to be expected for the average fiancé receiving a text from his intended.

John, respond if not dispatched. Otherwise I will leave the florist’s and avenge you. SH

He chuckled at Sherlock’s best attempt at flirting.

We can’t have that, can we? Calm down. I’m literally a block away. JW

Hurry up. Bored. SH

You’re always bored. JW

Flowers, John Watson. SH

Not Watson for much longer, darling. JW

We did not discuss the issue of last names. You are sorely mistaken if you believe that I would ever change my name to Sherlock Watson-Holmes, or any variation of our two surnames that involves hyphenation. I don’t expect you to do it just to spite me. SH

He’d been teasing Sherlock for weeks that he expected them to change their last names together, to his fiancé’s endless chagrin.  
John could see him texting furiously on his phone through the shop window and couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of Sherlock Holmes in some posh, girly store, surrounded by arrangements of roses and carnations. His brother, Mycroft, looked even more out of place.

The bell tinkled as he opened the door and walked into the floral shop, overwhelmed by the heady scent of overripe flowers, and answered Sherlock’s text in person. “I’m not expecting you to change it in public, dear—it would ruin your business cards. But in private, you should know that I’m going to call you Mr. Watson-Holmes.”

Sherlock turned around and looked mildly annoyed, but John could read his relief in his posture. “And what will the others call you?”

“Doctor Watson-Holmes.”

“And what will I call you?”

“Oh, definitely Captain,” he said with a cheeky grin.

Sherlock gave him a wink for good measure, and Mycroft cleared his throat.

“If you two are quite finished, let’s keep the sweet nothings to a minimum,” he sniffed, twirling his umbrella against the floor. “Sherlock, John, we do have business to attend to.”

“I didn’t think we’d see you today, Mycroft,” John said in greeting. “This really doesn’t seem like your sort of thing.”

“The wedding of a government official’s brother, especially one as famous as Sherlock Holmes, is a state event,” clarified Mycroft.  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “This is why I never involve you in anything.”

“Dear brother, I’m only trying to give you the wedding of your dreams. Is that such a crime?”

John interrupted. “Mycroft, we only wanted to have a small ceremony with close friends and family in attendance. We only let you take over because you insisted. Let’s keep it cordial, yeah?”

“Quite.” Mycroft turned to the shop girl and had her bring out several huge arrangements of flowers. Everything seemed to follow the theme of white—there were white orchids, white roses, white peonies with pussywillows, and Sherlock’s dreaded hydrangeas. “All right, men, which one do you prefer?”

John frowned at the influx of blinding flowers. “Er, I don’t really know. You don’t have to spend so much money on flowers, really. We’re fine without them.”

“Nonsense. The flowers are an integral part of the ceremony.”

Sherlock huffed. “Ignore him, John. He’s only fretting about this whole wedding business because he’s invited some very important foreign diplomats from the East, and he wants to impress them.”

Mycroft got red in the face and blustered. “I—I am simply worried—concerned—I want this to be—”

“Right, it’s fine.” John pointed to the peonies. “These’ll do. Roses are rubbish, anyway. All right, Sherlock?”

Sherlock looked mollified. “Take care of it, Mycroft. I daresay this wedding business is easy for us two, since all we have to do is pick the flowers and show up. Come on, John, Lestrade has a serial killer for us.”

He grabbed his hand and all but ran out of the shop, already texting Lestrade that they were on their way and hailing a cab.

“Blimey, Sherlock,” John wheezed as he tugged him into the cab. “I have a shift down at the hospital in a half hour.”

“Unimportant.”

“Yes, important. Remember, we talked about this?” John crossed his arms as the cabbie took them to Scotland Yard. “You have your work, and while I love joining you on your cases, I do have a job of my own. And I have responsibilities.”

Sherlock looked back through his memories of the past few days. “I might have deleted that conversation.”

Earlier on in their relationship—hell, even their friendship—this would have driven John up a wall. But after two years of being in a relationship with this impossible man, John had truly learned the value of patience. It rewarded him well. “Well, we talked about it. If we’re going to be married, we still have separate lives apart from each other.”

“I know that,” Sherlock said shortly. John waited for the inevitable ‘but’. “But I don’t want to. I mean, I don’t want to be separate. Bad things happen when we’re separate.”

John remembered the events that happened years ago, clear in his mind despite the time gone by. He thought of finding Sherlock with the cabbie, of being kidnapped by Moriarty, of watching Sherlock jump. Of jumping into an impossible box, getting attacked by a rogue Cyberman, getting kidnapped by Moriarty once again and falling to his near-death with Sherlock, and according to the Doctor, his actual death in another timeline. He understood exactly what Sherlock meant and reached out a hand to take Sherlock’s pale one in his own.

“Hey,” he said quietly, “I didn’t mean that. I understand. You know that I don’t want to leave you, ever. I only meant that…well, you’d go mad if I was always about. Alone time is good, sometimes.”

Sherlock squeezed his hand. “Whatever you say, darling,” he said, his voice tingeing with sarcasm.

“Do you remember how you proposed to me?” John smiled brightly at him, changing the subject.

“I recall you saying it was ‘the most bloody twisted idea of romance’ you’d ever seen.”

“Oh, I was just shocked. I never thought you’d actually ask me to marry you. You don’t think much of it.”

“I don’t,” Sherlock said matter-of-factly. “It’s an outdated, sentimental tradition and a waste of money. But Mycroft’s paying for everything, anyway.”

“Darling…”

“Sorry. I don’t think much of marriage, but you do. Which is why I asked you to marry me—I do want to make you happy, you know.”

John got a secret burst of pride at Sherlock’s sacrifice. “You know you don’t have to do that for me. I would be happy just being with you for the rest of my days, no marriage required.”

“The marriage license will come in handy when it’s time to draw up adoption papers.”

John choked at that, which Sherlock ignored as the cab pulled up to the curb in front of Scotland Yard. “Are you quite all right?”  
“Sherlock, did you just say—”

“Hold that thought—I’ve got a text.”

John grumbled and stepped out of the cab with his fiancé, who swatted at his arm as he read the message. 

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything, Sher—”

“You’re thinking too loud. It’s annoying.”

\--Afternoon, gorgeous. What are you up to?

Sherlock smirked. 

Nothing that can’t wait. Are you in town? Can we meet? SH

\--When will you be free, sweetie?

Serial killer with John, then an evening of writing vows. SH

\--Ahh, marital bliss. Your flat at 6?

Bring milk. John won’t get any until I write my bloody vows. SH

“Who’re you texting?” John asked, a tiny bit concerned. “Not some boyfriend you’ve been hiding, right?”

“Oh, John, what must it be like to be you?” Sherlock sighed, kissing the tip of his nose. “We’re getting a visitor tonight. Let’s try and not get our hands dirty on this one.”


	2. Chapter 2

The TARDIS’ lighting kept changing back and forth as it bobbed in the time vortex. One minute, it was a harmless, pleasant green, happy that its inhabitants had figured it all out, and the next it was a whiny red that urged her pilot to take her to Stormcage.

It wailed, and the Doctor peeked his head from around the door to Clara’s bedroom. “Will you please hush up, Sexy? We’re going, we’re going… She just needs some time to get used to things, and I need to figure out what I’m going to say to River, all right?”

The TARDIS keened again in protest but then switched to a bubbly green, gleeful over the fact that her thief and his daughter were reunited.

The Doctor shook his head at the interior lighting and turned back to Clara’s room. It had been decorated with the desktop version of a cloudy blue sky with autumn leaves blowing periodically by. Posters from all of their travel destinations so far covered one of the room’s walls, while the other had a huge bookcase and a comfy armchair. Every inch of it was Clara, spunky, clever Clara. His brilliant companion who, up until fifteen minutes ago, he assumed was a random woman. An important woman who clearly was a message from the universe that he hadn’t deciphered until a few moments ago.

Clara had been following him in different forms across the universe, and he hadn’t been able to figure out why. He’d only just realized that it was his own daughter, sent to himself by himself via the TARDIS in an attempt to save her life. He’d been terrified that it would take centuries to find her again, but she’d managed to find him before he even knew she was alive.

Lyradesphielumandar. Lyra Song. His clever girl.

Clara was lying on her bed with a pillow over her head, still quivering with shock. He sat on the edge of her bed and twiddled his thumbs. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t know either, and you were only a few hours old when we met. You’re not really required to remember who you are.”

“But I do,” she moaned under the pillow. “I remember everything, Doctor—I kissed you! Back with the Snowmen!”

“Yeah, well…” The Doctor didn’t really know how to respond to that one. “Weirder things have happened. I snogged my mother-in-law on the night before her wedding.”

“WHAT???”

“We should definitely go through family history. Besides, Marty McFly kissed his mum! And don’t even get me started on Luke and Leia, because they are seven different kinds of warped. Besides, we don’t think that way now! We didn’t back then, either, not really! It was more of a ‘heat of the moment’ thing anyway! I’ve been treating you like a little sister…maybe that translates! Maybe I knew it on a biological level!”  
Clara cried harder into her pillow and he panicked, flailing his limbs over her form.

“Clara, please…I know this is difficult to understand, but I’ve only just found you, and I can’t lose you again.” The Doctor decided to put a hand on her back. It usually soothed River. “Clara, darling…this doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, but let me have the chance to explain it, and to…be your dad. I never thought I’d get the chance to say those words again. I thought I was too late.”

Clara sniffed and lifted her head from under her pillow. The Doctor’s heart couldn’t help but warm up at the sight of her red nose and puffy eyes. It was endearing. Usually crying terrified him, especially when the tears came out of female eyes, but seeing them come from his daughter made him want to hold her. So he did—he wrapped his arms around Clara and held her close. “Clara, Clara, Clara…”

“That’s not my name,” she whispered, clutching his shirt. “All over the world, I’ve been Clara Oswin Oswald. Or Oswin Oswald. But you didn’t name me that.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“And the parents I remember…I’ve had many different ones, but they were never really mine. I wasn’t related to them.” She shuddered. “I’m so lost. I can barely remember you, but I know it’s true. You showed me the constellation and you told me you loved me.” She looked up at him. “What does Mum look like? River Song, I mean? She’s my real mother, right?”

“Why don’t we go see her right now?” The Doctor jumped off the bed and gave a hand out to Clara. “She will be thrilled to meet you. She made me promise to take you to her as soon as I found you.”

Clara looked more than a little terrified. But meeting her real mother for the first time was a very tempting offer, despite her confusion. She took his hand. “Will you explain everything?”

“Everything, I promise. Come on, Clara.”

“I want to know something first.” She sat down on her leather armchair and crossed her arms. “Clara isn’t my name.”

“No, it’s not. When I was typing…well, that’s a long story, and River should be around to hear it. We named you Lyra, after the constellation I showed you. It’s River’s favorite,” he explained, sitting cross-legged in front of the chair, “because Time Lords and part-Time Lords can hear the song it plays. You could hear it when you were a baby and you can hear it now.”

“But I remember…it was a lot longer than that,” she said. “When you first held me, you said something a lot longer, and you said other people shouldn’t hear it.”

“Time Lord names are given by their parents at birth, and they usually have a special meaning behind them. Some of these names have meanings so powerful, that when they’re uttered by certain people, things happen. So, most names are kept a secret and shared under very special circumstances.”

“What are those circumstances?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. When the time comes, if ever, for you to tell someone your full name, you will know.”

“What is it, then?”

He smiled and leaned forward to whisper it. “Lyradesphielumandar.”

She repeated it and wrinkled her nose. “Mouthful, that one. What does it mean?”

The Doctor considered the native Gallifreyan. “Roughly translated, it means, ‘The song that illuminates the answer’.”

“What’s the answer?”

“Isn’t that your job to tell me?” he laughed. “Anyway, most Time Lords pick titles to use. I’m the Doctor. I used to have a friend named the Master. You get to pick one yourself, if you want. Your mum picked one, and she’s only human plus.”

“What’s Mum’s?”

“The Professor. But she also goes by River Song. But she does have a Gallifreyan name, and so do I. If you want to keep going by Clara or if you want us to call you Lyra, or whatever you’d like, it’s fine.”

She bit her lip. “Can I get back to you on that?”

“Fine by me. Anyway, don’t you want to meet your mum?” The Doctor tried to leave Clara’s room again, this time managing to escape to the console and firing it up. The TARDIS was happy to steer its way to Stormcage and parked itself in its familiar spot in River’s cell. “She is going to be so happy to meet you.”  
* * * * *  
“Oh, I am so not happy to see you,” River growled when the TARDIS landed in her cell. She crossed her arms over her chest to show the Doctor she meant business.

He winced when he walked out of the blue box, taking in the picture of his very cross wife. He’d left her only a few minutes ago, in his timeline, but he was clearly late. “Sorry, honey—how long has it been, exactly…?”

“Three weeks, you perfect idiot. Did you not think to check on me?” She huffed and blew a wayward curl out of her ice-blue eyes that could cut a hole in his hearts. His poor, beautiful River Song—she’d been left alone to her grief. Well, he was about to change that. Best to ease into it, though.

He walked up to her and kissed her sweetly, melting the ice in her eyes. “I love you so much. So, so much, River.”

She blinked in confusion. “What’s gotten into you, sweetie? You don’t say those words unless you know you’re about to get in trouble with me.”

“Oh, you’re definitely going to kill me for this one, but I wanted you to know before you destroy me that I adore you.” He led her inside the TARDIS. “You’re going to want to sit down for this one.”

“Did you crash my motorcycle again, dear?” She noticed Clara, who was standing in shock by the opening to the corridor. “Oh, hello, darling. Have we met yet? You must be Clara—the Doctor’s told me all about you.”

“River—” the Doctor said in a warning tone that River always ignored, and she cut him off and bounced up the steps to shake Clara’s hand.

Poor Clara. She had to deal with all of River Song, in all of her splendor and intimidation, walking right up to her with huge hair and big curves and gun and prison uniform and flirty smile. She could have melted into a puddle of fear and terror. River pumped her hand with a mischievous grin. “Clara Oswin Oswald. You’re a clever one—and cute, too.”

“River, trust me, don’t embarrass yourself anymore,” the Doctor sighed, leading both women to the parlor he had a few halls down. There were several comfy chairs and a roaring fireplace that they arrayed themselves on. The Doctor sat on a huge, high-backed armchair and stooped over, fiddling with his thumbs. River leaned seductively on a settee and Clara placed herself like a china doll on a footstool with perfect posture.

“Clara, dear, I can’t say thank you enough for saying yes to the Doctor,” River laughed. “He was so alone after…well, we both lost some people very important to us. And I told him, I told him, he couldn’t travel alone. And then he got you, and now he’s happy again. Though, dear, I’d appreciate it if you could tone down the flirting a bit—I know it’s difficult with a face like his, but he’s a bit taken.”

“River…” The Doctor didn’t know exactly how to approach this. “What was I doing after I left you a few weeks ago?”

Her face fell, but she tried to hide it. She’d been taking care of herself for the past three weeks. “You went to go look for our…for…you went to look for Lyra.” She shook her head. “I know, sweetie. I’ve been looking, too. But I want to hear more about your and Clara’s adventures. It’s a nice diversion from all the…well, I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

Clara gulped. Not once did she take her eyes off River.

River looked puzzled. “Sweetie?”

“River, look at Clara.”

“I’m looking at her. She’s wonderful.”

“Tell me…who…what does she look like?”

River laughed a bit and studied Clara’s blanched face. “Dark hair, straight, floppy—no offense, Clara. Brown eyes. Great smile.”

“Not curly, then.”

“Nope.” She enunciated the ‘p’ with relish and grinned at the Doctor until she noticed his expression. “Doctor?”

He sighed deeply and then gave her a small smile. “She didn’t get your hair, River. Beautiful, of course, the most gorgeous girl, but the poor thing got my hair.”

The ghost of River’s laugh remained, disbelieving, for a moment until it died away and her eyes went blank. “But…how…” She stared at him and switched her gaze quickly to Clara, then the Doctor, then Clara again, and then backed off the settee.

“River, please—”

“Shut up.” She glared at the Doctor and effectively shut him up. Slowly, she approached the still-frozen Clara. She moved like she was making her way through water, bringing a tentative hand up to her face, afraid to touch. With a careful hand, she touched the outline of Clara’s cheek and traced her eyebrow, then put both hands around her face and tried to memorize the twenty-odd years they’d missed together. “Brown eyes,” she chuckled in disbelief. “Rory had hazel—your granddad. And the Doctor has a sort of grey-green. I remember…” A tear slipped out of her right eye. “You had brown eyes, when you were born. First regeneration, and all that.”

“Mum…” Clara hadn’t blinked since River came toward her, completely awestruck.

Without another word, River folded her into her arms and held her as close as humanly—or Time Lord-ly—possible. Rocking back and forth, River just cried into Clara’s hair while Clara remained frozen, allowing River to rock her over and over while just repeating, “Mum…Mum…Mum…”

It was a painful moment to watch. The Doctor could feel the pain radiating off of River from the weeks of utter grief and loss. It was oddly equivalent, in parts, to watching River realize that she’d lost her child. Finding her again, in the most unexpected of places, was uncomfortable for them all. Clara had just realized her true parentage, River had just found out that her husband’s secretive new companion was her own daughter, and the Doctor had just found out that his cheeky, enigmatic, mysterious Clara was really his own child—and that he was responsible for her mystery.

He cleared his throat. “River, there are some things I should explain. If you could sit.”

River rearranged herself, pulling Clara with her on the settee and firmly grasping her hand. It seemed to be all Clara could take.  
They were all silent, unsure of how to begin this new family, until Clara said in a tiny voice, “You told me you’d tell me everything.”

“Yes. I did promise.” He looked at River for encouragement and began. “You already know me—I’m the Doctor. I’m a Time Lord with a blue box and I travel the universe, and this is your mother, River Song. She’s the daughter of my two previous companions, Rory and Amy.”

“That’s a bit weird.”

“It’s a bit complicated. Anyway, we were married in an aborted timeline when she tried to kill me because she was kidnapped by a religious order and brainwashed and—”

“Doctor.” River shook her head. “Too much. Keep it light.”

“Right. Anyway, she’s a time traveler with a bit of Time Lady in her, and she’s my wife. And somehow, through some strange sort of miracle, she got pregnant with you. Only, I didn’t know it until it was too late, and she was kidnapped by another adversary, a real beastie named Jim Moriarty. It was a really nasty business with parallel worlds and paradoxes, and that’s when the trouble really started.” He looked wearily at Clara. “Do you remember the lesson I gave you about paradoxes?”

“Companionship 101, yeah.”

“You became one after that day. By rescuing your mother and defeating Moriarty, we created a paradox around your birth and when you were only a few hours old, though we’d barely gotten to meet you, you disappeared. You didn’t exist anymore, but I managed to save you as a file, like a computer, onto the TARDIS mainframe.”

“Must be why I’m such a computer whiz,” Clara joked. “Besides, it would explain why the TARDIS doesn’t like me.”

“What do you mean, the TARDIS doesn’t like you?” River asked.

Clara shrugged. “She always whinges about when I’m around. She hates me. But maybe she was just trying to get my attention and make me remember everything. Or maybe it’s because I’m a paradox and she’d having trouble housing me.”  
The Doctor smiled. “Oh, you are clever. Didn’t I tell you, River—didn’t I say she’d be clever?”  
River smiled. “She’s brilliant.”

Clara mirrored her smile and gave her mother’s hand a squeeze. “Apparently you can inherit cleverness. And a taste for mischief. And being sexy.”

“You are so my daughter.”

“Ladies!” the Doctor coughed. “Focus! So, I saved her into the computer mainframe onboard, but I was distracted when I did it—I was thinking about you, Clara, but not you as my daughter, you as my companion whom I left behind for chips, and I was thinking about you, Clara, not as my companion but as my daughter, Lyra, and I sort of typed Clara instead of Lyra, which is an understandable mistake, considering there is only a two-letter difference—”

“Doctor,” both women said in unison.

“Sorry. So, I emailed you out into the universe to be downloaded into different bodies and have thirteen different regenerations—thirteen different lives. It was the best I could do to ensure that you could live. And now it makes sense, and now you remember all the times we’ve met before. You met me first when you were a Dalek, and then in London with the Snowmen.”

River shook her head. “That means, you remember—you kissed him.”

“I didn’t know!!!!”

“Oh, sweetie, I don’t care anymore—I only pity you, poor darling.”

The Doctor giggled. “I sent out copies of you all over the Earth, all over the universe—and this entire time I’ve known you, I’ve been trying to figure out your mystery. Why you keep coming up. It’s simple, really—I keep finding your file over and over. The TARDIS was either looking for you, or I am just the luckiest man there ever was, because I found my daughter before I even knew I had one, and she’s perfect.”  
Clara grinned. “This is so weird. So I’m a Time Lady?”

“Not exactly. You used to be, but after you ceased to exist, the only part left of you was your mind and potential. That’s what was downloaded into a form that was approximately what you would have looked like if you’d grown up as a Time Lady.”

Her lips curved into a mischievous smile. “Can I drive the TARDIS then?”

“She’d never let you. Furthermore, I’d never let you. You’re grounded, Miss Oswald,” he (almost completely) joked. “Is it too weird? I mean, this is all a lot to take in.”

Clara shook her head. “I can deal with it. I think. It’ll take some getting-used-to, but I feel…right. Like everything in my head is in its proper place again.” She looked at River. “Wow. You’re just…You’re really cool. I can’t believe I have a new mum, a real mum. My other one, she died when I was a teenager—but then again, I can remember two other mothers. Was I related to them?”

“Not genetically,” the Doctor explained. “But they did raise you, so they count in some way as your mother, I think. They certainly loved you.”  
Clara nodded and stood up. “Right, then. Resurrected daughter demands a hug.”

With a hearty laugh, the Doctor drew Clara into an iron embrace, followed quickly by River Song. Neither parent had any intention of letting go, and after a moment, Clara was returning the hug she had initiated and they all felt, within the heat of the circle they’d created, that somehow, wounds they’d considered irreparable could find a way to be healed.

The Doctor pulled away first. “I think this merits a photo. River, old girl, will you fetch the camera?”

River made no move to let go of her newly found daughter.

“River, please, I promise she won’t disappear. Please get the camera?”

“You’re definitely going to owe me one,” she sighed, reluctantly letting go of Clara. “Don’t move—I’m picking up where I left off when I get back. And I want to know everything about you, sweetie, every single thing I’ve missed.”

She hopped off to the closet across the hall to search for a camera, leaving the Doctor and Clara alone. It would be easier for them—they had an established dynamic they could depend on, though the flirting would have to stop, immediately. Clara gazed at the fire and suddenly felt very vulnerable. “River is wonderful.”

“She is.”

“Do you love her?” The question seemed out of the blue, but Clara had been worried. The Doctor showed so little genuine emotion that it was hard to believe he’d ever bared his feelings in such a way.

The Doctor sported an odd grin. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, it’s you, Doctor. She doesn’t travel with us, so you two don’t live together.”

“It’s not like that.” He blew air through his teeth. “We’re not like that. She travels, and I travel. If we were together all the time, we’d go mad. But it doesn’t mean I don’t—I do tell her, you know. I tell her I love her.”

“And you do.”

“Yes, dear. I do love that barking mad lady. It’s complicated and it always will be, but I do happen love your mother, Clara.”

Clara beamed. “Good. I love to hear a good love story. It’s good to know I’m part of one.”

River rushed back in and pecked the Doctor on the cheek before returning to her daughter. “Come on, sweetie, I want to hear every detail. And then we’re going to make a visit.”


	3. Chapter 3

“I don’t want to.”

“You’ve only been trying for three minutes.”

“It’s too difficult. It’s ridiculous and trite. You already know what I’d say and I don’t see why you’re subjecting me to this.” “Most fiancés just do this without complaining, you know. Especially ones who put up with body parts in the fridge.” Sherlock groaned and hit his head on the coffee table in front of him repeatedly. “I can’t write an ounce of romance, John. I beg you, don’t ask this of me.”

“I’m not asking, I’m demanding. And it’s not meant to be romantic—it’s a promise of love and trust that’s meant to last a lifetime. It’s my insurance policy,” John half-joked, hiding a worried smile.

Sherlock couldn’t help but notice. “You’re nervous. You think I’m not going to go through with it.”

“Go through with what, dear?” John faked ignorance.

“You think I won’t marry you.” The accusation hung there in the parlor of 221B. Sherlock didn’t look away from John’s surprised gaze. He continued, “You’re afraid I won’t acclimate to the marriage and I’ll leave you. It’s ridiculous, of course. You have nothing to worry about.”

“I think you’ll find it’s not an uncommon thing for a fiancé to worry about,” John sighed, dropping next to Sherlock on the couch and raking a hand through Sherlock’s hair. “You’re bound to get bored. I’m bloody well terrified. And you’ve been acting more distant than usual lately.”

“Oh, that? That’s not because of the wedding.”

“What is it, then? Tell me how I can help.”

Sherlock considered letting John know what was on his mind but decided against it. It seemed too crazy when uttered aloud, and he needed to work out a few things first. All data had to be considered. “You can help by just being happy, John. I want to marry you. I don’t want a wedding, but I want a marriage, and I will sit through all the overly floral state occasions I have to in order to claim that I’m your husband. Problem with that?” he asked with a steely glare that John saw straight through.

The ex-Army Doctor just chuckled and kissed Sherlock’s forehead. “Take-away tonight, love?”

“My visitors are bringing something. Set the table for three extra, if you will.”

John rolled his eyes and did as he was told, leaving Sherlock to wrap himself up in his blue dressing gown and think. There was something he was missing, something that had been missing since Pete’s World and traveling with the Doctor. As soon as he’d stepped onto the TARDIS after the Doctor had saved John from Moriarty. Part of his brain was tugging at him, nagging him to remember that there was a part he wasn’t remembering, that part of him was somewhere else. Before he could overanalyze it, a yearned-for wheeze sounded in the room and a familiar blue box landed in the middle of the room.

“Hullo!” a voice called from within. “We brought Kaldeesian—it’s sort of like Mexican and Chinese food had a baby that a squid gave birth to, but you know, if you like spice, it’s quite good, and we’re in the mood for a bit of zap!”

“Doctor!” John yelled, throwing open the TARDIS doors and hugging the man around his odd, brightly colored boxes. “It’s been years! How have you been?!?”

“It’s been years? Really? It’s only been months for me—whoops!” the Doctor ushered River out with more food and they set everything at the table. “Clara, darling, come on out! Meet Sherlock Holmes and his dearly beloved blogger, John Watson!”

Clara, being a good companion, didn’t reveal how exciting it was to meet the famous literary duo and simply shook Sherlock’s hand politely. On seeing John, however, she remembered more about her past and her face fell. John did a double-take when he saw her. “Clara? Clara Oswald?”

“H-Hi, John,” she mumbled weakly. “It’s been awhile.”

The Doctor inspected the moment. “You two know each other? Watson, I swear, if you dated my own daughter, I will—”

“Daughter?” John asked. “She’s your daughter? This is Lyra? But she was just a baby! She—oh, bloody time travel.”

“We’ll explain when you do,” River said, joining the Doctor in a disapproving glare. “Did you go out with Clara?”

“Mum!” Clara shook her head. “I miscounted how many past lives I’ve had. This is my fourth—my last one was a few years ago. I…was married to John’s sister, Harry.”

The Doctor spluttered on his own spit and prompted fainted. River took him by the shoulders and dragged him to the couch before digging in. “Try not to shock your father, sweetie—he’s getting ever so old.”

* * * * *

Sherlock looked positively fascinated by the time they’d gotten through their explanation. “Brilliant. A Time family with a computer file daughter who regenerates in different human forms. Oh, it’s Christmas.”

John had given up on the weirdness of Harry’s marriage to Clara long ago, but the Doctor hadn’t. “You were married to his sister?” he mumbled to her, earning a slap from River.

“Does it really matter who she fancies? You had a thing for Jack Harkness, as I remember.”

“So did you, honey.”

“And for Madame Vastra, too—what a lady,” River sighed. “I was ever so disappointed when she married Jenny, even though we could never be together.”

“Stop teasing.”

“Make me.”

“I think I will, later.”

“I’ll make room in my schedule.”

“You’ll make room in other places, too.”

“Oh, is that so…?”

Clara shrieked at her parents. “You two—your daughter is sitting right here. Please. I am begging you, just stop. And Doctor, my last regeneration copy was married to Harry, but they got a divorce after two years and then I got in a nasty car crash.” She cringed. “Then I woke up and I was a baby again, and I grew up to be me, this time around. Nothing to worry about. Thought we should avoid seeing Harry around here, since that wouldn’t be fair to her.”

John nodded. “I can deal with that. She’s off on some soul vacation, anyway. Besides, Doctor, we sort of have news of our own.”

The Doctor looked away from his suggestive whispers with River and beamed. “Congratulations on the upcoming wedding, boys—I hope I’m invited! I love dancing at weddings! Wait—I’ll need to get you a wedding present. I’ll be back!”

He sprang out of his chair and went to the TARDIS, which he fired up and took away to some unknown time or place. River chuckled after him. “He is such an idiot. I’m very excited for you two. So, what are you up to, then? Wedding plans?”

“Horrid proceedings. Mycroft’s taken over,” Sherlock complained to John’s chagrin. But he couldn’t help himself. “The only manageable business was picking out rings. I had such fun with the mineral composition of the ring selections.”

“I know this is hard to believe,” John said, “but he actually proposed to me, not the other way around.”

“I’ve been there, sweetie,” River agreed. “How did Sherlock propose?”

John smiled at the memory. “Oh, it was romantic, in his own way. But he acted so odd for the weeks leading up to it. Almost too normal. He had people cover my shift at surgery and invited me to the morgue for a quick lunch date.”

Clara wrinkled her nose. “Morgue?”

“He’s a—well, he needs bodies,” John explained. “I found my own case to solve down there, and I had to run all over London to find him through these infuriating notes he left.”

“They weren’t infuriating. They were clever. Lestrade approved the idea, you know.”

“Well, in any case, it led me right back to St. Bart’s, on the roof, which was an almost sick joke,” he said with an edge of weariness. “Taking me to the place of your faked suicide? Maybe the worst idea ever. But he made up for it with all the candles he had—it was night by then, since the notes took forever to solve—”

“It was meant to happen at sunset, but you took too long!”

“He actually sent texts to find out what was taking me. Honestly. But anyway, there were all these candles and he stood there in the middle of them all, and he played a song for me on his violin and delivered an impassioned speech about how he was sorry for all the times he’d caused me pain because of what he did on the roof all those years ago, but he promised never to hurt me like that again and to protect me.” He got a little teary and everyone at the table could see that he only had eyes for Sherlock, who had turned pink at the repetition of the story. “He told me he had something to jump for that day, but for the same reason, he would never jump or put himself in danger again, because he had someone to look after. And he asked me to marry him.”

There was silence after that, with John gazing lovingly at Sherlock and Sherlock giving him an equal measure of the same look, in his own way. The beautiful moment was interrupted by the TARDIS rematerializing, and the Doctor stepped out of the machine, looking shell-shocked and unbearably sad. He spied River’s concerned face first, as if he’d been looking for it, and walked right past everyone to kiss her squarely on the lips.

She smiled into the kiss. “Not that I’m complaining, sweetie, but exactly what happened?”

He shook his head. “Spoilers. But I needed that.” With a flourish of his hand, he got everyone around the table to get up and into the TARDIS. “Come on, everyone—we’re going on a pre-wedding trip! We’ll have you lads back in time for your ceremony, or later, if Sherlock prefers. I vote we go to the Beach Planet, so everyone go to your rooms and get your best bathing suit and snorkels!”

Everyone shrugged—the Doctor switched from moods of unspeakable bitterness to flamboyant effervescence in an instant. John and Sherlock greeted the TARDIS with bright smiles, happy to see the chirping box again, and they all went to their rooms to grab something to wear. John lingered in the console room for a bit, letting everyone leave him so he could marvel at the beauty of the machine, when he heard the smallest of whispers from somewhere in the room.

_Hello, John._

He spun around, looking for the source of the noise but finding it only in his own head. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to get it out, but it remained, quietly persistent.

 _No, John, you’re not going mad._ _This voice will go away soon. You won’t even remember it when it’s gone—you need to type something into the coordinate box and take us there._ Images flashed quickly through his mind, blinding him with the knowledge of how to pilot the TARDIS, and he gripped the TARDIS console for support. _Come on, John. Just a few buttons. We taught you how—hit them and the pain goes away._

John couldn’t think coherently anymore, but he was a soldier. He was prepared for this sort of thing and steeled himself against the pain of the images even as they forced him to his knees. _Hit the buttons and you get the answer, John._ _You know you’ve been wondering_.

 _NO_ , he screamed in his head, but more images flooded his brain, images of Sherlock jumping and Sherlock leaving him at the altar and Sherlock refusing him in a million different ways.

The rejection packed a suffocating punch. _You want to know if he’s going to run. We can give you that answer. Everyone will have their answer. Do what you’ve been told._

His eyes rolled back into his head and the images of typing in the coordinates morphed in the actual action of typing it in, and without meaning to, he took the TARDIS where he was told and promptly collapsed on the deck, forgetting that he’d been controlled. The TARDIS landed with a hollow thunk on a foreign ground, shaking the foundations of the box to its core.

The Doctor, thoroughly confused, climbed out of the equipment closet and went to survey the TARDIS’ actions. “Daft old box,” he grumbled. “Sometimes she just drives herself where she wants to go. All right, then, John? Hit your head?”

John sat up from the floor, rubbing the back of his head. “I don’t remember. I guess I must have. Did we crash somewhere?”

“Nah, Sexy sometimes takes me places she thinks I need to be. Come on, everyone!” he called out to his companions, and they all walked out of the TARDIS together. The air was cold, the sky was a dead sort of grey, and the only thing that stretched for miles around was tall, brittle grass that matched the sky. A horrid echo sounded around the field that undulated across the waves of grass. A sinking feeling settled in the pit of the Doctor’s stomach. “Back in the TARDIS. Now.” River turned to open the TARDIS doors, but she found them locked.

“Come on, darling,” she said, “open up for us.” The TARDIS only started to materialize away with an angry, uncaring whine while the group began to panic.

“Doctor, fix it! Make it come back!” John insisted, trying to grab at the air where the TARDIS was rapidly fading away.

“Sexy, what are you doing?” the Doctor said. “Get back here! We need to get out of here! TARDIS!!!!” She ignored them all and left them with a final groan, and the five time travelers were all stranded in the middle of the barren landscape. River watched as the Doctor’s eyes filled with horror and understanding, and she slowly slid her hand into his.

“Doctor. Where are we?”

He gulped and grasped her hand, and reached for Clara’s. “I didn’t think it would happen so soon. I thought we had time.” “Doctor.” He turned to face the four dear faces in front of him. “We’re in the Fields of Trenzalore…and we have no way of escaping.”


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock shook his head.  “What’s so bad about the Fields of Trenzalore?”

            The Doctor immediately rushed to clamp a hand over his mouth.  “Hush!  No talking!  No anything!”  He cleared his throat and licked his lips and felt the force of Trenzalore push an answer out of him.  “It’s been said that at the Fall of the Eleventh, at the Fields of Trenzalore, no living creature will be able to speak falsely and a question will be asked.  It’s been said a question will be asked…and that question should never be answered.”

            River’s jaw dropped open.  “Your name.  Someone’s going to ask you for your real name.”

            “All right, everyone—from this point on, no one can speak.  No one can talk!” the Doctor insisted as his face grew ashen with worry.  “And _no one_ can ask questions!  Everyone needs to be silent while I look for an escape, all right?”

            John couldn’t help it.  “What’s so bad about your name?”

            The Doctor cringed.  “JOHN!  I told you not to ask a question!  If I tell my name…something terrible will happen, especially here.  This field has the power to make something terrible happen if I say it, so there’s your answer.  Remember, no one can lie here.”

            “Impossible,” John said.

            “When was the last time you had sex, Sherlock?” River asked to prove her point.

            Sherlock didn’t hesitate—the answer came out of him.  “Two days ago.  John got home early from work.”

            “SHERLOCK!” John wheezed in embarrassment while Clara snickered.

            “It was on the kitchen table.  It was excellent.”

            “Sherlock, that is _private_!”

            Clara had to join in on the fun.  “John, who tops?”

            “It depends on the day—wait, no!  Forget I said that!” John blurted out.  “I get it, I get it.  The Fields make you say the truth.”

            The Doctor worriedly rubbed his hands together.  “We might be here for awhile.  Let’s get a fire going, if we can, and then I can explain as much as I can so the question won’t have to be asked.  We can beat this—we just have to make it until the end of the Fall of the Eleventh.”

            “And when’s that?”

            “No idea,” he said honestly, “but if it is what I think it is, I hope it never arrives.  Let’s start camp.”

            John and Sherlock tried their best, even with the help of a sonic screwdriver, but the grass couldn’t catch on fire.  It wouldn’t even let itself be uprooted, so the crew settled into the tall grass and huddled around each other for warmth in the freezing wind.  Clara nestled between her parents, not the slightest bit uncomfortable given the scary circumstances, while John and Sherlock held each other tightly and braced themselves against the fierce wind.

            “Gallifreyan names,” the Doctor began, “are given at birth by a Time Lord’s parents.  Since we are born knowing all of time and space, and every infinite possibility of it, we can sort of…see a child’s future.”

            “Why couldn’t you see me, if you already knew the future?” Clara asked.

            “No questions, Clara, please.  And because we usually learn to keep most of that loud stuff out of our heads.  It would drive us mad otherwise, and I’m already mad enough, don’t you think?”

            “Definitely.”

            “Clara!” admonished her mother.

            “What?  The Fields made me say it…”

            “Anyway,” the Doctor continued, “we come up with the name based on the future a child will have, and the name itself is a destiny of sorts.  It dictates what the child’s meant to do, and because of this, names are kept secret from birth.  Some destinies are larger than others, and you never know what will happen, so the child learns its name and picks a title to use as a placeholder, or a nickname.  Only under very special circumstances can a name be revealed, and the Time Lord himself can pick what those are.”

            “What was yours?” Clara asked, earning a swat on the hand.  “I’m sorry!  I forgot!”

            He grimaced and answered her, with every fiber of his being fighting to keep it a secret.  “I would only ever tell someone I trust enough to do what needed to be done, when the time was right.”  He met River’s eyes briefly and then looked away.  “I’ve already done that.  I’m not supposed to tell anyone, ever again, but if someone forces me, on these Fields, something terrible could happen.  My name _is_ my destiny.”

            River sighed.  “It’s what you’ve been running from your entire life.  If you say it on the Fields, it just might come true.”

            The Doctor gulped.  "We can't allow that to happen.  It simply can't happen.  River, you understand—it's not meant to happen.  We have to find a way to escape the Fields and find the TARDIS."

            John worded it carefully.  "Can you tell us…what your name means, at the very least?  Will that hurt anyone?"

            "It won't, and I can tell you, but I've already told someone and I really, _really_ don't want to do it again.  So please don't ask."

            Clara had been trembling between her parents the entire time, despite some lighthearted joking.  She'd only just found out that the parents she'd recognized as hers for her entire life were really just carriers, and her real parents were a pair of mad, dangerous time travelers.  One of which was a man who'd grown to be her best friend, a man she'd accidentally had a thing for in lives past, and the wife she'd been slightly jealous of.  It felt too weird.  And now, she was in the middle of a final showdown of sorts that could hurt her father.  She shivered violently, and River assumed it was because of the cold and put a comforting arm around her.

            "So, the TARDIS has left, and she either was commandeered or she decided to leave us.  I doubt Sexy would ever want us here, so someone has taken her, someone who knows how to control a TARDIS."

            "Moriarty?" Sherlock asked, instantly alert.

            The Doctor shook his head.  "Dead.  Besides, not a Time Lord.  The only people who can drive the TARDIS are Time Lords, like me, part-Time Lords, like River and Handy, and eventually Clara, and to date, one incredibly talented yet uniquely annoying consulting detective."

            "Oh, Doctor," Sherlock drawled, "you _do_ care."

            They all chuckled to themselves until they heard a soft keening noise coming from somewhere in the field.  They turned their heads to find the source of the sound, which seemed the amplify with the wind.  Somehow, it seemed to come from the grass and ground itself, and over the high-pitched sound, a deep, rumbling voice was heard.

            _Welcome, weary travelers._

The Doctor jumped to his feet.  "Who are you?"

            _I am the Fields of Trenzalore.  Welcome.  You have come seeking answers._

"No one's come seeking anything.  We've been trapped here."

            _Everyone comes seeking answers.  Today is the Fall of the Eleventh, tired Doctor, and no living creature can speak falsely until the question is asked.  This day has been well-prepared for._

The Doctor bit his lip.  "Are you bound by the same rules as everyone else?  Do you have to tell the truth?"

            _Yes._

"Then tell me.  Who has the TARDIS?"

            _The TARDIS has been taken by its original manufacturer.  It will not be returned to your care.  It is needed._

"What for, eh?  What do you need a batty old Type 40 for, anyway?"

            _When the question is asked and answered, the TARDIS will ensure its completion._

            "What—"

            "No, Clara!" the Doctor hissed.  "Don't ask anything.  Let me handle this."  He flexed his hands.  "How do we escape?"

            _You do not._

"There's got to be a way.  I don't believe you."

            _There is no escape from the Fields of Trenzalore.  The day has been well-prepared for.  The question must be asked._

"Who's prepared for this day?  Who wants me to answer the question?"

            _You already know the answer, weary Doctor.  Must I say it aloud?  I shall if you request it._

"No!" he said.  "No, it's fine.  Don't say it."

            _Very well.  Welcome to the Fields.  You all have questions that must be asked and answered.  Everything will come to light.  Everything will be illuminated.  You will be free once the First Question is asked._

"But we already asked you a question—why aren't we gone?"

            _Not a question.  The First Question.  The question hidden in plain sight from the beginning to the end of the universe.  One of you must ask it.  The Fields only have the power to answer._

River's face had gone completely white.  "Doctor.  We need to use this."

            "No, River, we need to find a way out of here.  There has to be a way out of here.  You _know_ what happens if I tell my name, River—it can't happen today, or any day.  We need to find an escape."

            "The Fields are bound to tell the truth—there is vital information we could get here.  We're going to need to learn something from here before we leave.  This could be crucial."

            _River Song.  Are you ready to travel deeper into the Fields?_

"Yes."

            "NO!" the Doctor protested.  He grabbed her shoulders to keep her rooted firmly in place, but she shoved him off.

            "Doctor, I have to find a way to stop this.  I have to find a way to save you.  The only way to get out of here alive is to live through the Fall of the Eleventh.  And I am _going_ to keep you safe, do you understand me?  You and Clara both."

            _Is anyone else ready?_

The other three weakly nodded.  "It's the only way to figure this all out," Sherlock said.  "Doctor, look at the logic of it.  You can come with one of us if you don't want to be alone."

            "I _have_ to be alone.  None of you can ask me a question today, so I'll have to travel alone."  He faced the Fields.  "Very well.  Take us where we need to go."

            A strong gust of bitter wind separated them all, pulling each person to a different section of the field.


	5. Chapter 5

River let the wind carry her until she was far away from everyone she loved, completely alone.  When the wind stopped, she caught her balance and sat in the frigid grass, ready to steel herself against questioning.

            She was immensely surprised to find that the Fields were silent.  "What?  Is that it, then?  You're not going to make me ask him what his name is?"

            _You already know his name, River Song,_ the Fields sighed in reply.  _You are essentially useless to us._

            She bristled at that.  "I'm not bloody useless, you stupid grass.  I'm going to save the Doctor, and you're going to help me."

            The Fields didn't bother arguing.  River flopped onto the ground to avoid the cold wind still whipping through the plain and thought back to everything she knew about the Doctor's name.  With a sad smile, she recalled the night he'd told her his biggest secret.

            _"You're an idiot!" she declared as they shut the TARDIS doors to ward off angry fire trolls.  "You can't just insult the King of Gnamia like that and expect to come out alive!"_

_"I'm alive, aren't I?" the Doctor whined from the console, quickly piloting them away from any possible fire-related carnage.  "Stop your complaining—I took you to see the Flame Diamond!"_

_She grinned to herself.  "Well, I didn't exactly just stop at seeing it, did I?"  Without showing the Doctor, she plucked the enormous diamond she'd nicked from the throne room out of her bag and ran it to her room to examine later.  She considered it a wedding present to herself._

_"River!" he called out to her.  "I need your help!"_

_"Say please, sweetie."_

_"Please!"_

_She laughed and ran back to the console, seeing him tangled underneath it all in a mess of wire.  "Exactly how did you get yourself into this mess?"_

_"I was looking for the switch to enable the glow-in-the-dark desktop!  I was_ planning _a dance party," he fumed.  "Sorry I tried to have a little fun with my wife."_

_She rolled her eyes and began to untangle him.  It seemed like they'd be there for a while.  "So," she began, "the TARDIS gave me an important piece of information the last time I was here."_

_"Oh?  And what's that?"_

_"She told me my name."  She paused.  "My real one."_

_He looked a bit confused.  "Melody Pond?  I thought you already know that.  Wait, did I pick you up in the wrong year?  Is this your amnesia year?"_

_"What??"_

_"Er, nothing, dear.  Forget I said anything."_

_She shook her head and filed it away to question him on later.  "Sexy told me my Gallifreyan name the other day.  She said, as she's sort of my Time Lord parent, that she picked a name for me and wanted me to have it.  I was sort of wondering…why are Gallifreyan names a secret?"_

_He blanched visibly and tried to change the subject.  "Have I ever told you how much I like your eyes?  They're such a bluey-blue.  Blue is my favorite color, did you know?  Well, besides blinka.  Blinka's a brilliant color…though I suppose it's a bit before your time.  Oh, well.  One day, you'll like blinka, too."_

_"I look forward to it." She looped a wire around his middle.  "Doctor, please.  I think I have a right to know.  Why is it so secret?"_

_He sighed.  "I'm not sure I can tell you."_

_"Oh, it's just a little Gallifreyan history, sweetie.  Indulge me.  You were so patient in teaching me the language, and I want to understand."  She gently touched his hair and gave him her best smile.  "Please?"_

_He grumbled to himself, "River Song, you're going to be the bloody death of me.  All right, all right.  Stop with that smile, or I'll do something stupid like bequeath you the TARDIS, or something."_

_The TARDIS chirped in agreement._

_"Okay, so Gallifreyan names aren't regular names.  They're more like directives.  They're given by Time Lords parents who can see all of time and space, so they can pick out a future for their child.  The name is kept secret because some missions, some destinies, are meant to be secret.  If you had a name that spelled out the end of the world, you wouldn't want your peers to know.  So, we all keep our names a secret and only tell people under very special circumstances."_

_"And those are?"_

_"They vary.  Most people tell their spouses, or their best friends, depending on the size of the fate they're tied to."_

_River tried to hide the pang of sadness that the Doctor hadn't picked her to tell his name to when they were married.  Then again, he'd already been married before, centuries before her…maybe he'd already told one wife and that had been all he'd been allowed to do.  She shouldn't be jealous._

_The Doctor, in a rare moment of clarity, noticed.  "I haven't told you on purpose.  I've not told anyone.  I decided long ago that I'd only ever tell one person, the person who filled out a certain requirement."_

_"Do Time Lords get to pick who they tell it to?"_

_"Yes.  You pick your own circumstances and you can tell only one person, unless forced to say it again."_

_River considered this as she untangled the last wire from him and released him.  He stretched gratefully and booped her on the nose.  "Where do you want to go next, eh?  Or should we try again for the dance party?  Maybe the moment's gone…"_

_"Doctor," she whispered.  Somehow she felt both brave and very vulnerable in that moment.  "I think I want to tell you mine."_

_He stared at her in open shock.  "No, River.  It doesn't work like that.  You have to pick the person you tell carefully."_

_"You're the only one I want to tell. You're the only one I trust, the only one of my kind.  Who else would I tell, husband?" she said expectantly.  Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she pulled him closer despite his half-formed protests.  "Doctor, please.  I need you to know.  You can help me understand it.  You said that names were the same as fates, and I know Gallifreyan—I don't like the sound of mine one bit."_

_He gulped.  "If you're sure about this."_

_"Oh, dear, you're making me feel like I'm propositioning you or something.  We've already crossed that barrier, haven't we, love?" she chuckled while nuzzling his jaw with her nose._

_"And how."  He took her hand and folded it between his own.  "This is more intimate by far, River.  More intimate than sex, more intimate than marriage, more intimate than anything.  I could do things with your name.  I could destroy you with it."_

_"As if I'd let you.  As if I could."_

_She leaned in close and whispered it with the lilt of learned Old High Gallifreyan.  "Doctor.  My name is_ Carminecordilis. _"_

_There was a breath of peace between them as the Doctor's eyes grew misty with understanding.  She stood, feeling like she'd done something very wrong, until he gently kissed her fingertips.  "Thank you," he said quietly.  "I will treasure it, River.  It's beautiful."_

_"You know what it means?" she said with an edge of panic.  "You understand?"_

_"_ Carminecordilis _.  'The song that kills with mercy.'  Yes, I know what it means.  The TARDIS really got it right, didn't she?"_

_"Don't joke, sweetie."_

_"I'm not," he said with a loving smile.  "I'm really not.  She picked the perfect one.  It's actually pretty bloody brilliant."_

_She blinked in confusion.  "Why is that?"_

_"River Song…_ Carminecordilis _..." he whispered into her ear, admittedly sending shivers down her spine.  It sounded perfect in his mouth, like he was always meant to say her true name.  "You just filled my requirement."_

_She pulled away.  "What?"_

_"My requirement.  I would only ever tell my name to one person, and that person couldn't just be someone I loved or trusted.  It had to be someone I felt was meant to help me, someone destined to do the job."_

_"What job?"_

_He shook his head.  "I'll explain it later.  Do you want to do this somewhere glamorous?  I wish I could have taken you somewhere nice when you told me yours.  It's usually a bigger occasion to tell your name.  There's a party and everything."_

_She laughed.  "Darling, we got married on top of a pyramid.  I'm not exactly a frilly, fluffy female.  Besides, this is our home.  I'd rather do it here."_

_"Too right you are."  He took a deep breath.  "Don't be scared, okay?  It's a bit of a big deal, but it's just a name.  It can't hurt you."_

_She stood resolutely in front of him.  "I'm not scared.  I'm not running away from you.  I promise you, I can take it.  If you're ready for this."_

_He nodded.  "All right, honey.  Here goes everything."  Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her sweetly once and whispered in the smallest and softest of voices his true name._

_Her eyes widened when he finished.  Slowly she pulled away and sat on the floor, with the TARDIS console humming above them.  He joined her on the ground.  "Is it too much?"_

_"No.  It's just…wow.  That's…that's your destiny?"_

_"Yeah.  Imagine how I feel."_

_"Is there any way to stop it?"_

_"What do you think I've been doing all this time?" he sighed.  "My name means 'the one who destroys and saves Gallifrey'.  I used to run away because I was scared of hurting my people, so I wanted to be far away from them so I could never destroy my planet.  But after the Time War, I realized that I_ had _to destroy it.  My people had grown too corrupt.  They were too close to killing all of the universe and trying to ascend to a higher plane where they could control everything.  They wanted to become gods.  I couldn’t let it happen."_

_He put his face in his hands and she wrapped her arms around him, peppering his shoulder with comforting kisses.  "You did the right thing, sweetie.  I know it's hard, but you saved us all."_

            _"But now I have to run even faster than ever before," he moaned.  "I have to keep running, because I can't let myself bring them back."_

_"If you tell your name to someone else, will that summon Gallifrey back?"_

_"Not exactly.  It would be sort of like a homing device, or a beacon.  Gallifrey would need to tune into it and use a huge power source to get back from its Time Lock.  But by now, the Time Lords know what my name can do.  They could route a signal back to find me."_

_She refused to let that happen.  "I'm going to keep you safe.  It will_ never _happen, do you hear me?"_

_"River…"_

_"No.  Listen to me.  I'm not just your wife anymore, Doctor, I know your name.  I know your darkest secret, and I will die before I let it destroy you."_

_He smiled darkly and suddenly looked very far away.  "Unless I die first."_


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock landed in a patch of especially tall, salty grass and lay there for a moment, collecting his thoughts.  Questions.  He was good at asking the right ones.  Besides, he had a few he needed answering himself.

He stood up.  "You are the Fields of Trenzalore?"

_Yes.  Welcome, Sherlock Holmes._

"Will you answer any question I have?"

_Yes._

"Do you know everything?"

_No, but I daresay I know more than you._

Sherlock smiled in spite of himself.  "Oh, I think I like you.  Cheeky, then.  What will happen if the Doctor's name is revealed today?"

_Legend has said that he will bring doom with him when he says it, doom for all of time and every nation.  The Time Lords will return. The Silence will fall._

"What silence?"

_The silence that has kept them quiet and in the dark for years.  The ancient people he will free will no longer be silenced.  Their voice will be heard throughout generations.  It is they who have prepared for this day._

"Who are they?  The ancient people?"

_The creators of Trenzalore.  They have waited in the dark for this day, for the day the weary Doctor could no longer run or hide.  And they will be brought to glory after dark millennia._

"Sounds like a nasty business."

_It is not your business to fear.  You have nothing to do with the name, Sherlock Holmes.  You have other questions.  Important questions.  Ones to ask and one to answer.  John Watson seeks you._

"Indeed he does."  He paused and tapped his chin.  "Why does he seek me?"

_He has a question he fears asking._

"He's afraid I'm going to leave him.  He thinks I don't want to marry him and I'll leave him at the altar."

_That is not a question, Sherlock Holmes._

"Right.  The question is, what is the answer to his question?"

_You already know the answer._

"I do.  I want to see how accurate you are."

_You married John Watson.  You have decided.  Long ago._

He smiled.  "You have me there.  I will marry him, no matter how ridiculous I find the institution."

_That is not what I said.  I said that you married John Watson._

"Pretty sure I'd remember that."

_That is not a question._

Sherlock groaned.  " _Why_ , praytell, do you think I've married him already when I know I haven't?"

_You know you have.  You married him two years ago aboard Starship Moriarty, in an aborted timeline when John Watson was dying.  The Doctor married you before deleting the timeline._

Sherlock tried to hide a gasp.  As soon as he heard it, the memories fit back into his mind like a puzzle piece found under a sofa. He remembered insisting that the Doctor perform a marriage ceremony for them, remembered John groaning in pain and spurting blood, remembered kissing him as everything illuminated and burst into fire.  He _had_ married John—how had he forgotten?

He hadn't.  He had remembered something nagging at the back of his mind for the past two years.  Something important that he'd missed and tried to meditate to remember.  Something he'd tried to search through his mind palace for to make sense of.

"Why do I still remember it?"

_You are a time traveler now.  You remember some things that happened only in your mind, in times that never existed.  You remember this because you are a time traveler, and you wanted to remember._

"Does John know?"

_He was in great pain.  It still exists in his mind, but he has never accessed it.  If he is reminded, there is a great chance he will recall it._

            Sherlock would have left it at that, but he still felt the tiniest pull in the back of his brain, telling him there was something he was missing.  There was still a part of him missing.  "What else do I remember from that time?  I still have a feeling like I've missed something important."

            _There is nothing else to remember.  What you are feeling is Netherspace._

"Explain it."

            _That is not a question._

"What is Netherspace?" he growled at the pesky Fields.  "Answer that, then!"

            The Fields took time to pay Sherlock back for snapping.  _Netherspace is the dimension for things that are lost.  It is the place where all things from deleted timelines and abandoned existences can still survive, in some capacity._

"So, the Sherlock that died that day—he went to Netherspace?"

            _No.  You are survived by yourself.  There is only an imprint of you in Netherspace.  You feel the connection in your brain to the imprint that exists there, but it does not live on its own.  It is connected to you._

"How do I get there?"

            _It is not a place you can go.  It exists on a different plane that is only intellectual._

"Could a TARDIS take me there?"

            _I do not know._

Sherlock felt a thrill go down his spine.  This was excellent.  This was brilliant, even—there was a purely intellectual dimension where a pattern of him existed.  If he ever escaped Trenzalore, he would have to do more research.  "How can I save the Doctor today?"

            _There is nothing to save.  He will answer the question and raise the empire, but he will not die._

"Where is he?  Where is John?"

            The Fields did not answer but instead opened a swath of the grass to allow him to pass through.  Without a thank you, he ran like mad down the grassy aisle, calling for his friends.

*****

River shook her curls out to release the scary memory.  She had made him a promise not to let it destroy him.  She had to figure out a way to keep him safe and keep this from happening.

            "All right, then.  You tell me.  Does the Doctor's name get revealed today?"

            _Yes._

"Is there any way to stop it?"

            _It has already begun to happen.  He will tell his name today._

"How do I save him?"

            _You have no need to save him.  He will not die as a result of telling his name.  The only thing that will happen is what you already expect.  He will bring Gallifrey back._

"Are the Time Lords responsible for this?  Are they the ones who prepared for this day, knowing he would bring them back?"

            _Yes._

"Does the Doctor know?"

            _Yes._

River blew a breath through her teeth.  It was unstoppable then.  The Doctor would tell his name, and all would be lost.  The Time Lords would reenter the universe and pull the fabric of existence apart with their greed, and her poor, beloved Doctor would break.  "Did they take the TARDIS?  Is that how we got here?"

            _Yes.  They are using the TARDIS as a power source to fuel their return.  Gallifrey will rise high once more on the horizon of Trenzalore, and all will be lost and saved._

"Then you tell me, oh Fields of Trenzalore, how I'm going to save him.  I am the woman who married the Doctor.  I am the woman who killed him once, and I am the Song that kills with mercy.  You tell me how I save him."

            If the Fields of Trenzalore could gulp then, it would have, but after a moment of silence, it answered her.  _You know what the Doctor will ask you to do._

She didn't even blink.  "Yes."

            _He won't be able to come back.  You will ensure it, both of you.  No escape from that._

"If he asks it of me, I will do it.  But will it be the end?"

            _No.  Not if you do as you are told.  Are you willing to follow instructions, River Song?_

"For the Doctor, I would die."

            _Good.  You will have to.  After the name is told and you complete what must be done, a younger version of the Doctor will pick you up and take you to Darillium to see the Singing Towers.  After this, you must go to the Library._

"The Library planet?" She'd been on the expedition list for ages.  "What will I do there?"

            _A younger Doctor will be there.  His last incarnation.  You must make sure you have the sonic screwdriver you were given at Darillium, and you will face a dark enemy with him.  It will require a sacrifice—but you must trust the Doctor.  He will ensure that you don't die completely.  Once you are killed, you must trust him and when you get into CAL—_

"CAL?"

            _—you must search the databases for information on Netherspace.  Find a way in.  Then you must find a way to get out of the CAL database and back into human form and make your way to Netherspace.  It's the only chance he has._

River nodded gravely.  "Where is the Doctor?  Take me to him."

*****

_You are the daughter of the Doctor._

Clara picked herself up off the ground and brushed off broken, cool grass.  "What's it to you, Planty?"

            _You recently found it out.  You're defensive._

"And you're not Sherlock Holmes.  Stop deducing me and tell me how to save the Doctor."

            _That's not a question._ Before Clara could reword it into a question, the Fields continued.  _Don't you have a question?  You could know nearly everything.  You're the most sought-after woman in the universe._

"Stop it—I don't want to hear it," Clara said angrily.  "You're messing with me.  I want to know how to save the Doctor."

            _Still not a question, Clara.  Don't you want to know what your name means?_

"I know what it means.  The Doctor told me."

            _He told you the translation.  Don't you want to know what your destiny is?_

"Yes," she answered honestly.  "Stop it.  I'm trying to save a Time Lord here."

            _All you have to do is ask.  It won't hurt the Doctor if you ask about your own name.  Ask it, Clara.  I know what your destiny is.  Your entire family's fate depends on you._

That got her attention—she had the chance to save her family.  "What is their fate?  The Doctor's and River's?"

            _The Doctor is destined to bring back the planet of the Time Lords from their locked space in time, but he will not do it willingly.  He will die before he goes through with his fate, and River Song will kill him.  She will die soon after to try and save him._

"How do I stop them from dying?"

            _They are destined to die.  They always have and always will._

"Is there anything I can do?"

_Yes._


	7. Chapter 7

            John didn't let the wind take him lightly—he kicked and struggled until it deposited him on the ground and immediately began to run for Sherlock, screaming for him over the bluster.  "Sherlock!  Sherlock, where are you!?"  He wheeled around and accused the Fields, "You took him away.  There had better not be a misplaced hair on his head, or YOU.  WILL.  BE.  SORRY."

            _Sherlock Holmes is safe and well.  Have you no questions of your own?_

He shook his head.  "I don't need anything answered.  I need my fiancé safe, in my arms, thank you very much."

            _You wonder about him.  You wonder if he will really marry you.  It's the question you want answered._

John considered it.  He wanted so, so much to hear the answer to this question, but he was terrified of the answer.  Besides, it was a trivial thing in the face of the Doctor's imminent doom.  "I don't need to know.  It's fine.  Where is Sherlock Holmes?"

            _A kilometer to the east.  Begin walking and you will get there in twenty minutes.  Ten if you run._

John ran for all his might due east.

            _Do you not want to know if he will marry you?_

"I don't need to know.  It doesn't matter."

            _It does to you._

"I know it doesn't matter to you, because you're made of grass and anger, but I trust him.  I might be scared, but I don't have time to waste.  Sherlock and the Doctor need me."

            The Fields seemed shocked into silence.  Maybe John had impressed it.  _Have you no questions?_

"One, actually."  He paused to catch his breath and get his bearings.  It was horrible to run through the stringy, tall grass.  It caught on his legs and weighed him down.  "Am I the one who asks the Doctor his name?  I'm going to try my damnedest not to, but I'm afraid it will slip."

            _No.  You are not the one who will ask._

"So who does?"

            _His daughter will be the one who asks him._

"Is there any way to stop her?"

            _No.  It is meant to happen._

"I refuse to believe that."  He broke into a run.  "Where—is—Clara?"

            _Turn around.  She is to the west, two kilometres away.  You will not get to her in time._

"I have to try.  The Doctor could die today, and I can't let that happen."

            _You care for the Doctor?_

"No," he smirked.  "I have a very irritable husband-to-be, and if I let his favorite alien die, he'll be ever so cross."

*****

            The Doctor was alone, but he wasn't frightened.  Alone protected him.  Alone protected everyone.

            _Your friends are gone._

"If they know what's good for them, they'll stay far away."  He sat in the grey grass and wrapped his arms around his knees to escape the chill.  "Is my name revealed today?"

            _Yes._

"Clara asks me, doesn't she?"

            _Yes._

"And River is running to save me, so she won't have to do what I will ask of her."

            _Yes._

He shook his head in disbelief.  "I have a really incredible family, did you know that?"

            _Are you not angry with your child?_

"Nah, never could be.  She's had a rough day, after all, and I'm sure you were instructed by the Time Lord Council to break her into asking me.  I'm ready.  But they aren't going to win."  He stretched out his legs.  "So, they stole the TARDIS.  That's the power source they're using?"

            _Yes.  You are very calm for a man about to destroy all of time and space with a single word._

"Just call me Mr. Calm," he joked.  "No, never mind.  Don't call me that."

            _Have you no questions?_

"No.  What is meant to happen has always meant to happen.  This is a fixed point—I will reveal my name today when Clara asks, because I won't be able to lie.  And once my name is said, the TARDIS, wherever you've hidden it in the Fields, will begin to haul Gallifrey back to our sky.  But I won't let it stay there.  Without me, it will have to snap back, yeah?"

            _You won't survive._

"That's the point, isn't it?  If there's no one with the name to bring it back, the TARDIS won't be able to pull it back.  The TARDIS and I have to be connected for the name to work.  So I have to take myself out of the equation."

            _You won't—_

"You know, I do have a question.  What will happen to them?" he asked.  "What will become of Sherlock and John?"

            _They will marry and start a family.  They'll be happy._

"And Clara?"

            _She'll inherit the TARDIS.  Her mother will teach her how to drive it, and she will travel in it._

He smiled to himself.  "Sexy will have to get used to her.  What about my wife?"

            _She will go to the Library in a few weeks and die for you._

"Will it hurt, when she goes?"

            _No.  Too quick.  She will think of you._

"I'll think of her, too.  I took her to Darillium a few months ago, back when the timelines were wibbly.  Did you know, I thought that was the last time I was meant to see her, and then all this happened?  I never thought I'd be lucky enough to see it.  We had a baby girl…"

            _They will try and save you._

"Bless them.  They're adorable, humans are.  It will be okay, I know it.  I'm ready to go.  I've seen the last thing in the universe I wanted to see before I had to die—a family of my own that will the chance to live."  He stood up and looked up to the sky.  "It was a really lovely universe.  I'm glad I got to see everything twice."

             *****

            John Watson was currently the luckiest man on the Fields of Trenzalore—on his way to save the Doctor, he happened to run into the love of his life without even looking for him.  Well, Sherlock actually ran into him, with a huge and ungainly thud that knocked them both to the ground, with Sherlock right smack on top of John.

            John felt the air escape his chest but couldn't help chuckling.  "Well, hello, dear.  Weren't we up to this last week?"

            "Really, John, is this what you call a good time for flirting?"

            "No, you're right, I'm sorry," John agreed.  "No PDA on a case or mission.  I forgot.  What did you learn?"

            "Nothing helpful to the mission, I'm afraid," said Sherlock, pulling John up with him.  "The Doctor's name is destined to be revealed today.  I suppose we have to deal with the consequences and be there for him.  Though I did learn about a higher plane of consciousness that might factor into an escape plan for him.  We'll have to discuss it later."  Sherlock looked at him expectantly.  "I thought you would have asked me by now."

            "Asked me what?  Come on, we've got to run," John said as he pulled Sherlock along to the center of the field.

            "You know bloody well what, John Watson.  Don't think I haven't noticed that you're scared about the wedding.  You might as well have branded the word 'terrified' on your forehead."

            "I _am_ terrified," John admitted.  "But I know you love me, and however much you can't imagine yourself in a marriage, you wouldn't abandon me.  That's not what we do, you and me.  So, no, I don't need to ask."

            Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise, which John didn't notice because of the speed at which they were running.  "I think that might be the most romantic thing I've heard out of your mouth, John Holmes."

            "Oh, no.  There's no bloody way I'm changing my name, Sherlock Watson," John said offhand.

            Figures could be seen in the distance, which prompted the pair to quicken their pace to get to them. They screamed their heads off to get them to turn their heads, but they were all too far away to here each other.  Thankfully, they were all heading to the very same place, where the Doctor stood.  His feet were spread apart and he looked straight off into some unfathomable distance.

            "Doctor!  Doctor, you have to avoid Clara!" John yelled at him, tumbling over his long limbs to get there.  "

            "Clara?  Is Clara going to ask him?" Sherlock whispered to John.

            "Yes—we have to keep them apart!  DOCTOR!"

            River could be seen sprinting.  She stopped pumping her arms and threw them out to the Doctor, reaching out to grab him and protect him from whoever was going to hurt him.

            The Doctor ignored them all and walked straight ahead, past them all to a destination only he could figure out.

            "Doctor!  Doctor, no!  Whatever you're doing, just stop!  JUST STOP!" River screamed.

            He walked on.  He didn't slow his pace and wore the smallest of half-smiles, like a crescent moon, while he went to the spot over everyone else's heads.  River reached him first and tried to pull him to face her.  "Doctor, Doctor, please, stop, you need to listen to me, we can fix this, we can save you—"

            "River."

            " _Don't_ keep walking, don't you _dare_ , you are going to bloody LISTEN to your wife!"

            "Stop."

            "I am not going to stop, you idiot!  I hate you!  Oh, Doctor, stop!" She dug her nails into his jacket and tugged him back until he finally faced her.  "I don't care what the Fields said.  Time can be rewritten!"

            "Not this time.  Not any time.  Not one line; don't you dare," he said.  "This always happens.  And if you keep asking me to stay with you, I might just agree with you and stay."

            "Stay."  She pressed her palms to his face and pleaded with him.  "Love, stay with me."

            "I can't.  River," he said, cutting her off, "if I look at you for one more moment, I'm going to break.  And I couldn't live with myself if I let my wife see me break."  He took his eyes off her and stared at the space over her head.  "You know what I need you to do."

            "I refuse."

            "You don't.  I need you, love—please, River, I need you to do this for me."  He turned around and walked away from her, leaving his wife and the boys trailing behind.

            Clara was lying in a tangle of grass, sobbing into her hands.  "No, no, _no_ ," she repeated over and over.  "No—you're lying, you're lying to me!"

            At this point, the deep rumble of the voice of the Fields had disappeared from everyone's head but Clara, where it had amplified and seemed to repeat itself and its malicious words.

            The Doctor, with infinite care and wisdom, leaned down to where she was curled into a ball and put a hand on her shoulder.  "Lyra.  You're safe, darling.  Look at me."

            "The Fields…they keep telling me all these things about you…"  She shook her head and cried even harder.  "You've killed, you've hurt, and you've _lied_ …and you don't care!"

            "That's the biggest lie in the universe.  I do care about all of it.  Especially you.  I am the Doctor, after all."

            At that, she screeched.  With seething, red eyes she turned to look the Doctor directly in the eyes and asked, "Doctor _who_???"


	8. Chapter 8

A deep silence fell between the people.  River shook her head over and over, denying it and debating whether or not to clamp a hand over the Doctor's mouth, if that would help.  John and Sherlock remained rooted to the spot.  Clara looked immediately like she wanted to take back the two horrible words she'd said.

            The Doctor only gave her a Cheshire grin.

            "Cassalvidexgallifrain."

            A deep boom sounded four times over, shaking the Fields and making the grass tremble and shrink away.  River ran to the Doctor's side and took his hand, and the Doctor reached out for Clara's hand.

            She shrank away from it.  "I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm—the Fields, Doctor, they were torturing me, I didn't even mean to—"

            "You are forgiven.  Always and completely forgiven."  She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet.  "Are the voices gone?"

            "Yes."  Clara pressed her face into his jacket and cried.  "I'm sorry.  Please, you have to know, I didn't mean to say it.  I didn't want to.  Please tell me you're not going to die!"

            He wrapped his arms around her and River followed suit.  He gave both girls a kiss on their foreheads.  "The TARDIS should be coming back soon."  Almost as if on cue, the TARDIS wheezed its way back to the Fields, coming back in a dark, low color that hummed with its new source of control.  "The Time Lords have locked onto the name, like a signal.  They're using the power in the Heart of the TARDIS to pull back Gallifrey."

            "Can we destroy the TARDIS?" Sherlock asked weakly.

            "Oh, no—I doubt she'd let you."

            Up in the sky, a new, red horizon was mounting over the heavens.  The air shimmered gold as Gallifrey pushed its way back into the sky, clawing its way out of the time lock with a bloody roar that pierced everyone's ears.  It was a beautiful and fearsome thing to behold as the great planet opened up the clouds and the collective cry of the Time Lords, free at last, cheered for their salvation.

            "Cassalvidexgallifrain," the Doctor said to himself, "the destroyer and savior of Gallifrey.  I destroyed my planet and brought it back, and now it seems I have two options.  I can either live as the man who brought back the Time Lords, or die as the man who eradicated them for good."

            " _Don't!_ " Clara sobbed into his shirt.  "I'll do anything to stop it, please!  Doctor…Dad, please stay with me.  I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry!"

            "I don't have much time," he said solemnly.  "I'll make it to your wedding, you two—I was there earlier, actually.  Lovely thing, Sherlock, you have nothing to worry about.  Very tasteful flower arrangements.  And John, he doesn't leave you."

            "I know," John said quietly.

            "You'll see me in the future, when you have your son.  Make sure you tell him about me, yeah?"

            "Doctor—"

            "Clara," he interrupted, "you get the TARDIS when this is done.  It will go back to normal.  River will teach you how to pilot her, and she's yours.  Go on the adventures you dreamed of, my dear.  Remember everything I told you, and remember the rules, and remember to save people.  It's your job now—you're the new Doctor.  Or whatever you want to be.  I'm really not picky."

            "Dad!"

            "Lyradesphielumandar," he whispered softly to her, "it's your turn.  Illuminate it all, for me, my girl—and remember I have always loved you and always will, until the end of time and back, a million times over.  I couldn't have asked for a better daughter, even if I only got to be your proper dad for only one day.  It was the best day of my life, and that's saying something."

            He pulled away and John put a protective hand around Clara, who weakly tried to push him off and reach for her father.  He faced them, knowing River was behind him and took a deep breath.

            A sharp stab hit him through the back, twisting in the middle of his right heart, and then a similar jab was placed into his left heart.  He let out a soft gasp, feeling River catch him as he fell to the ground and shivered.  Regeneration energy scurried around his wounds, trying to mend them quickly and force him into another shape, but he kept his eyes off his transformation and on River's face.  "Hello, sweetie," he choked.  "Thank you."

            "I'm never forgiving you for this," she said in a dark tone.  "Never."

            "You already have.  And I've forgiven you, too.  With me dead, the signal will be lost and Gallifrey will snap back into its time lock.  You'll all be safe."

            "You'll be dead."

            "Ah, well, not to you, my River," he chuckled.  "Carminecordilis?"

            "Yes, Cassalvidexgallifrain?"

            He shook his head.  "Nothing.  I just wanted to hear you say my name again, before I go.  Could you kiss me, maybe?"

            Tears spilled onto his chest from River's face as she leaned down, her curls a halo of gold brushing the Doctor's face, and kissed him passionately one last time before he regenerated.  Blood was spilling out of stab wounds, River was holding a knife in her right hand, and she cradled the Doctor in her arms and kissed him with every cell of life in her body.

            Underneath her kiss, the Doctor morphed into a new man completely and seized up with shock before opening his eyes and pulling away from the kiss.  River laughed and stroked his hair.  "You're finally ginger."

            "Of all the times to get what I want," he laughed, and he tilted his head to speak to his friends.  "Goodbye, gents.  It was a good run."

            Even Sherlock was in tears.  "Goodbye, Doctor."

            Clara ran to his side.  "You—you're different.  Does this mean you're going to live?"

            "Not today, I'm afraid.  Hold my hand, please.  River, I have one more regeneration after this—you’ll have to kill me again, and quickly, before I have time to regenerate."  The new man, the new Doctor, reached for his daughter's hand as River laid him down on the ground.  Gallifrey whined and strained against the time lock in the sky, aware that something was going wrong on the Fields below and protesting.

            He glanced up at River.  "I’m remembering it now—the night after Sherlock and John’s wedding.  It’s what I’m going to think about.”

She frowned in confusion.  “What are you talking about?”

“You’ll understand soon.  Goodbye, my mad lady.  I love you."

            Without responding, River let a heartwrenching sob out of her throat and plunged the knife back into his chest.  The Doctor grunted in pain as she pulled the knife back out and slammed it back into his other heart twice, and she abandoned the knife and kissed him, even though by then the golden regeneration energy had scurried off and vanished and the Doctor looked with vacant eyes to the sky.

            The giant red planet keened, losing its foothold in the universe, and with a final zap, it was pulled back into the darkness of the time lock.  The TARDIS returned to its familiar blue, nearly drained of power, and the cloister bell sounded far too late.

            River rested her head on the chest of the Doctor, and Clara joined her.  They both held each other over the body of the most important man in their life, who looked so unfamiliar to them now.  The blood pooled in his body and stopped running from the wounds, and the four people he left behind sat in silence marred by hollow sobs.


	9. Chapter 9

The TARDIS console buzzed as comfortingly as it could, with the entire room an eerie green to express the mourning it felt for its fallen master. It hummed encouragingly under Clara’s absent-minded touch, whirring under her fingertips in an attempt to get her to try just one button, any button she wanted.  As long as her new master was happy, she could deal with the loss of her beloved Doctor, the perfect thief.

            Clara didn’t respond to the TARDIS.  She remained completely numb, sick to her very core with how wrong everything felt.  She was back in the place that she considered her true home, but a defined presence was gone and it left a gaping hole.  The sound of jovial, defiant laughter, the whirl of running willy-nilly around the time machine, the cocky smile that could turn Daleks on their tail and make them run... There was a hole that Clara had torn in the fabric of her life, her family, her home, and there was nothing to fill the black hole.

            John came out of the living room in the back corridor and strode up to her.  “Clara.  Come on.”

            She made no move to leave, even when he gently put a hand on her shoulder.  “Come on, luv--your mother’s worried about you.  She doesn’t want you to be here, on your own.  Come with us.”

            She stared blankly at him.  She couldn’t read what his face meant, and none of the words made sense.  There was only blind confusion, and all she could see was the past hour, when the best man she’d ever known had gone from standing and breathing and loving her to lying down on the ground, sprawled out under them with a new, unrecognizable face that had only had seconds to see the sun before leaving, forever.  She remembered River’s broken body, curled around the form of her dead husband, whispering apologies into his neck and willing the knife wounds to close and the regeneration energy to bring him back to her.  She remembered the foreign and unwelcome tears streaming down Sherlock’s face and John’s gaunt frown, and she remembered being pulled off of her father with River as Sherlock carried the body back into the TARDIS.  Thankfully, he put him in the sick bay and jimmied with the wires to keep the body from decaying.  If Clara pretended, she could fool herself into thinking he was still alive.  Just dozing off, with fake knife wounds.

            The Doctor was dead.  She had killed him with her weakness.  River never would have asked him what his name was, but somehow she’d let the Fields get into her head, and the horrible thing was the Doctor hadn’t hated her for it.  He forgave her even before it happened.

            John tugged her to the living room, where River and Sherlock were hunched over tea that John had made.  He’d assumed the role of caretaker for his friends in the hours following the Doctor’s death.  Clara sat far from River, embarrassed to be in her presence after what she’d done, but River moved herself to Clara’s side and showed she wasn’t going to leave.

            “So,” John began, “is there a way?  Can we bring him back?”

            “Obviously,” Sherlock replied.  “Didn’t you get my text?”

            “Clearly I didn’t, Sherlock, I’ve been a bit busy,” John snapped.  He checked his phone and read the text aloud.  “ ‘Fields told me there are shadows of us that exist on a higher plane of consciousness as a result of a lasting paradox.  Also, we got married in an aborted timeline.  SH.’  What the hell?”

            “Hold on, I’m about to be very clever on a multi-dimensional level,” Sherlock said.  He pressed his fingers to his lips and hummed.  “All right.  The Fields told me that when Clara was born, Moriarty shot John and he was on the brink of death, and I asked the Doctor to go back in time and save him from being shot.  He did this--oh, and he married us at my request, John, to answer your question--and as a result, the John and Sherlock who got married subsequently ceased to exist.  We’re the Sherlock and John of the new timeline where John didn’t die, and this is where it gets interesting.”

            “Netherspace,” River said quietly.  “The Fields said something to me about Netherspace, that I had to learn how to get there.”

            Sherlock nodded gravely.  “The Doctor who came back to save John ceased to exist as well, since there were two Doctors at the time and they couldn’t coexist.  He disappeared along with John and me that way.  As a result, I was able to remember what happened before I disappeared because of an imprint that exists only on the level   of Netherspace.  It’s another dimension where things that don’t exist disappear to.  Since I still technically exist, the version of me that stayed with John and disappeared acts as a spaceholder in Netherspace, a sort of record that doesn’t exist fully without me.  Using the same logic, we can assume there was an imprint of the Doctor in Netherspace while he was still living, and now that he’s... Well.  There’s a possibility that that’s where he went after his death.  Or, at the very least, there’s an imprint of him there that we can try and revive, if we get there.”

            “So, we need to find a way in,” River decided.  “Brilliant.  I’ll do it.”

            “River...”

            “No, John Watson, _no_.  Don’t you dare argue with me.” She glared at him.  “The Fields told me that I was going to die soon, in an adventure with a past version of the Doctor, but that I had to trust that when I died, he’d find a way to save me.  I’m positive that whatever information I need will be in the Library, and after I die, I’ll be able to access it.  I just can’t tell the Doctor what I know about his death.”  She kept thinking.  “We all technically should exist in Netherspace.  Versions of each of us disappeared after the Doctor saved John.  Maybe I can learn how to get us there.”

            “Mum, you _can’t_ ,” Clara insisted.  “I only just found you, and I only have you.  You can’t just let yourself die.”

            “It’s not right now, sweetie,” River said.  “I have to wait to get in on the expedition team.  It could take a week or a year.  You’ll still have me.  But I have to do this.  It’s the only way to get him back, dear.”  She wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.  “We can do this.  I’ll need your help.”

            “Of course I’ll help.”  She sniffed.  “What do I do in the meantime?”

            “You’re the new Doctor, sweetie.  The TARDIS is yours.  He wanted you to have her.”

            She shook her head vehemently.  “No.  You take it.  TARDIS hates me, and I don’t deserve her.”

            “He wouldn’t have agreed with you.”  River took her by the hand.  “Come on, sweetie, I’ll teach you how to drive her.  We’ve got a plan of sorts.  Let’s drop these gents off.”

            With patient coaching by River and a few rocky landings, Clara managed to take the TARDIS back to 221B.

            Sherlock nodded to the girls, knowing he’d see them soon, and exited the TARDIS without a word.  With everything they’d dealt with that day, he wanted to do what Sherlock Holmes almost never did voluntarily—sleep the entire night and day away.  John remained in the doorway of the TARDIS, looking very lost.  “It doesn’t feel right, just going back to the way we were.  I don’t want to…I don’t think I can just go back.”

            Clara didn’t say anything, so River spoke for them.  “He needs us to.  You’re still going to see him again, one day.  You need to make that future happen when he meets you for the first time.”

            “But you won’t.  You won’t see him again.”

            River shook her head.  “Come on, sweetie.  I’m all out of spoilers, but I know we can do this.  We’ll get him back.  Go take care of Sherlock—you’re getting married in a few weeks.  They’ll certainly fly by.”

            John seemed amenable to that.  He left the TARDIS and River and her daughter were alone.  Clara still wasn’t talking.

            “Well,” River said, “I think I’m all traveled out.  Except for maybe one more stop.”  She stood close to Clara and took her hands, moving them across the console to different levers.  “See, this one…that’s where you type in the year you want to go.  It’s a bit tricky and it doesn’t always work, so you have to concentrate on it.  This lever starts the temporal engines.  Crank it twice to get a good kick out of it.  Oh, and this one—you use the keypad to enter in coordinates.  You’ll have to start memorizing them, but there’s an almanac under the control board somewhere.”

            “Why are you doing this?” Clara asked quietly.  “Why…Mum, you should hate me.”

            “Oh, do hush up.  I don’t hate you, darling,” River said matter-of-factly.  “I never could.  I only just found you…and I did lose…my husband, today.  But I gained a daughter I thought I’d never have.”  She hugged Clara gently and ran her fingers through her dark hair.

            Clara didn’t freeze up in that moment.  She threw her arms around River, to her surprise, and pulled her close.  “I’m sorry.”

            “Don’t be.  You heard him.  You’re forgiven, Clara.”

            “No.  Not Clara.”  She sniffled into River’s shoulder.  “I mean, I don’t mind if other people call me that.  I’ve been Clara for so long.  But I’d like it…that is, if you wouldn’t mind…if you’d call me Lyra.”

            River smiled.  “It’s what he named you.”

            “I know.  ‘The song that illuminates the answer.’ Maybe I’ll figure it all out.”

            “Lyra, my beautiful darling, I have no doubt that you will.  Come on, then,” she said, taking the TARDIS to a nearby galaxy, “I’ll show you how to take care of the old girl, and then you can drop me off.  I’ll wait for my expedition to take off and we’ll start to save him.  But before we do all that, there’s something I want to show you.”

            The doors opened to show a constellation she’d seen only a day before.  Was it really only a day since she found out who she really was?  The daughter of a Time Lord…the daughter of _the_ Time Lord.  The only one who’d ever mattered.  The bravest and the best.  Her friend.

            He’d taken her to see it.  It’s how this trouble had started in the first place.

            “He showed it to me,” she confided to River.  “It was how he found out who I really was.  I could hear the song.”

            River smiled grimly and squeezed Clara’s— _Lyra’s_ —hand.  “Do you think…maybe we could just listen for a while?”


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock woke with a start.  It was 3:23pm.  Good.  That was good.  He’d be on time, today.  He was surprised he hadn’t woken up sooner.

            John would be gone by now.  That was also good.  They would both be on time.

            Sherlock rolled onto his side and groaned.  He’d been asleep for eighteen full hours.  That was nearly unthinkable, for him.  He still wanted to sleep, for some reason.  No—not some reason.  It was clearly the stress he’d been under for the past two weeks.  He’d passed out as soon as he hit the bed, with a kiss on the forehead from John, who’d tucked him in before going to bed in the other room.

            His phone buzzed.  _Get your lazy arse out of bed, you tosser.  –Lestrade._ He chuckled and ignored the text, instead rubbing his temples and stretching.  The phone continued to buzz.

            _Up.  NOW.  Mycroft’s sending a car around 4. –Lestrade_

_John’s going to kill you if you’re late.  –Lestrade_

_My only job is to look pretty today.  I hardly think I need to be up for anything when Mycroft’s taking care of it.  SH_

_You selfish bastard.  You realize the only reason he sped up the marriage equality bill’s passage was for you.  –Lestrade_

_Well, that certainly seems very selfish, but it does pay to have a brother who runs the British government.  SH_

           

            The phone continued to buzz, making him groan even more and curl into a ball on the bed.

           

            _Get out of bed.  JW_

_Don’t tell me Lestrade’s been texting you.  SH_

_He hasn’t.  I just know you.  JW_

_Where are you?  SH_

_Picking up Harry from the airport.  JW_

_Dull.  SH_

_Up.  NOW.  Don’t make me come over there.  JW_

_I think I’d like that quite a bit.  SH_

_Is that an invitation, Detective Watson?  JW_

_Most definitely, Dr. Holmes.  SH_

John didn’t text after that, which Sherlock took to mean he should be getting ready to go.  Mrs. Hudson had laid out his tuxedo the night before, ironed and ready to put on.  He debated whether or not to look in the classifieds quickly for something that seemed like a probable case.  He could finish a small one by 5, couldn’t he? 

_John.  There’s a missing cat on Gloucester Street.  Thirty minutes tops.  SH_

_No.  JW_

_Please?  I’ll be there on time.  I promise.  SH_

_Not today.  JW_

_Don’t you love me?  SH_

_Don’t exploit my feelings for you to get what you want.  You do it every bloody day.  JW_

_Can I at least test the bacteria cultures in the tub?  SH_

_If you don’t get them on your tux and you’re at the church at 5, you can look at all the culture you want.  Just be there.  I’m already bloody well worried enough.  JW_

_You know I marry you.  SH_

_Oh, I’ll believe it when the rings are on and the certificate is signed, thank you very much.  JW_

_I love you.  SH_

_I know.  I love you, too.  JW_

He’d started to say ‘I love you’ to John nearly daily, now.  After Trenzalore, despite John’s insistence that he already knew, Sherlock made sure to tell him constantly, just in case.

            With a deep sigh, he launched himself off the bed and took a quick shower.  4.3 minutes, to be exact.  He spent an inordinate amount of time trying to brush his curls to look semi-decent, but they refused to behave, so he let them dry springy and full.  John would like his hair better that way, anyway.

            He had some tea that Mrs. Hudson had thoughtfully brewed for him and carelessly slipped on his shirt, cummerbund, trousers, and suit jacket.  He was about to grab the matching tie when he was shocked out of his burst of activity.

            No, no, no.  A regular tie wouldn’t do.

            He flailed around the flat for a bit, pulling apart John’s entire closet to find what he was looking for.  It had been left behind, and it didn’t exactly match the color scheme or the design of the tuxedoes they’d gotten, but it would do perfectly.

            He took his phone with him and got into the car.

* *

            “So, the reception has been all taken care of: gourmet food, seamless transition from ceremony to party, decorations, and even the flowers,” Anthea rattled off from her phone to a very nervous John.  He stood, tapping his foot anxiously on the church floor, while she explained to him everything that Mycroft had set in place.  “Mr. Holmes sends his apologies, but he won’t be in attendance at the wedding.”

            “Why am I not surprised?” John straightened his ivory tie and smoothed down his suit.  “What is it, a war in Japan or something?”

            “You’re close, but no cigar,” she smirked.  She gave him a hand with the corsage.  “You know, you actually look quite dapper.  Sherlock’s a lucky man.”

            “He will be if he gets here on time,” he said through gritted teeth.

            “About that… Mycroft arranged for a surprise for you, as an apology for not coming to the wedding.  If you’ll come with me.”  She beckoned to him slyly with a coy finger, earning a raised eyebrow from John.

            “Anthea, I already tried hitting on you about three years ago.  Is now really the time to offer a snog?  I’m a bit attached.”

            She rolled her eyes.  “Come on, Watson.  Trust me on this one.”

            The beautiful cathedral was starting to fill up with guests, taking up a decent amount of space in the church.  They’d been worried that they’d gotten too big of a space for their intimate gathering, but as it turned out, they had more friends than they originally thought.  People Sherlock had helped in past cases wanted to be there for him, which caused Sherlock no end of surprise that people actually appreciated him.  The entire Watson clan had even managed to drag itself from all over England to be there for John.

            Anthea pulled him into a small room behind the altar, full of altar serving robes and old incense holders.  It was a storage room of sorts, crowded and dusty but beautifully lit by sunshine streaming through an old stained-glass window.

            “Wait here,” she ordered him.

            He didn’t see a reason to object, so he spent a few quiet minutes alone in the storage room, hoping he hadn’t been locked in.

            Oh, no.  Anthea was in league with Molly.  They were locking him in the storage room and sending Molly out there in a dress, and Sherlock would be so annoyed with the whole marriage business that he would just want to get it over with and marry Molly.

            He was about the test the door when it opened from the other end, and thank goodness—Sherlock was there.

            “Sherlock,” he breathed, wrapping his arms around his fiancé’s neck and kissing him on the forehead in relief.  “I was worried—I thought we weren’t supposed to see each other before the wedding?”

            “Ridiculous,” Sherlock yawned.  He gave John a good look-over.  “Wow.  I don’t think I say this nearly enough, John, but you look…well.”

            “I look ‘well’?”

            “I mean, nice.  Very nice.  In that suit.”

            John cracked up.  “It’s our wedding day and you’re telling me I look nice?”

            “I’m sorry.”

            “Don’t be.  It’s bloody adorable.” John gave Sherlock his own appreciative glance.  He was positive it had taken him five minutes to throw on his clothes, but he looked brilliant.  It often surprised him that he’d managed to snag such a gorgeous man.  Here Sherlock was, looking a bit rumpled and not at all like he cared what he was wearing, but he still looked like a supermodel.

            Then he noticed the bright red bowtie Sherlock wore around his neck.  “Sherlock…is that…?”

            “Is it too much?”  Sherlock looked a little embarrassed.  “I wasn’t sure if it was too soon. He left it behind a year ago after we investigated the case on Mercury 8.”

            John fingered it lightly with a wistful smile.  “I think it’s brilliant.  Are you ready?”

            Sherlock snorted.  He supposed that was an answer.  “Are you?”

            “To be honest?  I’m terrified.”  John sighed.  “Is it always this scary?”

            “Do you want to elope?  I can have us in Venice in three hours.”

            “Er, tempting as that is, at least 50,000 pounds have gone into this wedding.  Let’s not muck it up, shall we?”  
            John was about to open the door when Sherlock grabbed him by the arm.  “Marry me.”

            “Funny, I was just about to…”

            “Not what I meant.  I mean right now.  Before we have to do it in front of everyone.  So you won’t be nervous.”

            John crossed his arms.  “I’m not nervous.  I’m going to be fine.”

            “Come on, it’ll be…what do they say?  Fun?” Sherlock took him by the hands.  “We’ll make it quick.  John Watson, will you be my husband?”

            “Er, sure.  Why not?”

            “Good answer.  Now ask me.”

            “Sherlock, this is a bit…”

            “ _John._ ”

            “Fine, fine.  Will you be my husband?”

            “Yes.”  He pecked him on the cheek and left without a word.  John was left dumbfounded in his wake, though he had to admit, he felt the ball of nerves in his stomach untangle a bit.

            His phone rang in his pocket with a text.

            _Admit it.  That helped.  SH_

_Oh, all right, you sod.  I’ll see you at the altar.  JW_

 

“Fifty quid the freak breaks down crying,” Donovan whispered to Anderson.  Somehow, they’d managed to get seats in the front of the church, and despite how spiffy they looked in their dress clothes, they were still rotten underneath.

            But it didn’t matter.  The ceremony had been going without a hitch.  Only twice had there been any hiccup—when the officiant rambled a little too long on the romance of the situation, Sherlock had audibly groaned in annoyance.  John had shook his head at that and Sherlock had looked contrite—he didn’t do it again.

            Also, Donovan noticed that halfway through the ceremony, the back doors of the church had opened and a woman with wildly curly hair had walked in with a young girl with dark hair.

            “And now,” the officiant said, “these two fine gentlemen will say their wedding vows, which, John tells me, they’ve written themselves.  John, if you’d like to go first.”

            “Right,” John said with a smile that barely passed as natural.  With shaking hands, he pulled out some brightly colored notecards from the pocket of his suit and held them up to him face.  “Erm.  Okay.”  He cleared his throat.  “Sherlock Holmes.  I was looking online—not an easy thing to do, since you’re always checking my browser history and you’re never asleep when I need you to be—and I found this poem by Shakespeare that I think really—”

            His hands shook a little too much and he clumsily dropped the notecards.  A chuckle ran through the church and John swore quietly on the altar.  “No, wait—sorry—erm.  All right.  I just lost track of what I was going to say, so…sod it all.  I’m going to wing it.”

            Sherlock eyed him suspiciously, but John ignored it.  He took a deep breath.  “Sherlock.  You know, in that marvelous way that you know everything, the person I was before I met you.  Ex-Army Doctor, psychosomatic limp, alone.  In need of a friend.  But what you don’t know, what no one knows, is…how truly terrified I was.  Sherlock, darling, I was lost—not only lost and not only so, so alone, but I was hopeless.  Everything was such a dark world for me, and all I had were days of therapy and nights of nightmares.  Horrible, bloody, awful nightmares.

            “And I met you—crazy, mad Sherlock Holmes, my high-functioning sociopath.  And suddenly the fear was gone and the limp was gone, and, and all I wanted to do…was run.  I’d run anywhere as long as I was following you.  And yes, you drove me up a wall those first few weeks at 221B and you still do, but I was finally feeling _something_ again besides all the pain I’d been hiding.  I couldn’t hide from you.

            “You made me feel everything again.  You brought things back that I never thought I’d know again, like…like burning hot anger, when you left that dead cat in my bed after you forgot to clean up the evidence of the Hartford case.  Like unbelievable annoyance when you ruin the ends of books for me when you don’t even read them yourself.

            “Like enduring admiration and respect.”  John swallowed, feeling wells of emotion start to spring up.  Up till now, he’d kept his shaking hands clasped behind his back, and Sherlock, in a surprising show of affection, reached for his hands and pulled them in front of him.  John smiled in gratitude and continued.  “Like amazement.  Something I think…a little bit like magic.  You, Sherlock Holmes, are a wonder, and you happen to know how brilliant you are.  What you _don’t_ know is…how irreplaceable you are.  You are so, so capable of caring and sacrificing to help other people, and you’d die before you let anyone here know that, but I know.  I think you brought excitement back, to my life.

            “And, er…I dunno, I guess I realized there was no way on heaven or earth that I could ever live without you—” John cut himself off as tears started to come.  Sherlock smiled weakly at him as he tried to collect himself, and all the girls in the church were blubbering into their handkerchiefs.

            “Sorry, I just…” He turned to the people gathered in the church.  “You all remember what happened several years ago, and you all know— _you_ know, Sherlock—how close I came to losing you, many times.  And how close I came to…to losing…to losing myself.  And call it unhealthy,” he laughed through his tears, “but I would sooner die than let anything ever happen to you.  I’d rather be gone than have to repeat what I did when you jumped.  I never want to go back to not feeling anything, without you.”

            He took a step closer and put a still-shaking hand to Sherlock’s neck.  “I love you, Sherlock Holmes.  There’s not a thing on Earth I care about more than you, even my own self.  Nothing in life makes sense without your texts and your smiles and your damn body parts in the fridge.  So.  Erm.  I’ve taken a long time with this.”

            The people in the church laughed with him.  He took it as encouragement.  “I’ll make this part short.  I promise to take care of you and always follow when you leave and to never, _never_ alienate you for the things you do.  Yes, you deduce things that people wish you wouldn’t and you play violin at 3 am—”

            Sherlock coughed.  “The point, John.”

            “Well, _excuse me_ ,” John laughed.  “Yes, you play violin at 3am and you complain about the way I make tea, but damn it, I love that about you.  Those things are as much a part of me as they are of you.  So, marry me, Sherlock Holmes.  Be my husband and let me spend every minute of my life running with you.”

            For some miraculous reason, Sherlock Holmes smiled.  There might have even been a tear or two in his eyes.  He leaned forward excitedly to kiss John, but the officiant cut him off.  “Mr. Holmes, you have to wait to do that.”

            He grumbled to himself and said, “I suppose it’s my turn to say things now, isn’t it?  Brilliant.”

            John winced imperceptibly.  This probably wouldn’t end well.

            “John,” he began slowly, “I’m not one for sentiment.  I have never seen the point in telling you, or any invited gathering of people, how I feel about you.  I expect you to understand and accept it the way I accept you.”

            John was about to roll his eyes—there he goes again—but Sherlock stopped him.  “Things have happened this week, John.  Things that have brought to light how—if you’ll pardon the cliché—fleeting life is and how important the people in my life are, I can’t…I don’t know how to adequately tell you…I can’t lose you, John.  I’ve seen people lose the ‘special someones’ in their life…” At this, Donovan noticed, Sherlock’s eyes flickered to the back of the church, where the curly-haired woman sat.  “I can’t imagine how they go on, so I understand what you mean.  You’re my best friend, John.  You’ve changed me into a better man, and I realize how beneficial you’ve been, and I know this sounds clinical, but I don’t know how to tell you these things.  I don’t know how to tell you…how inspired I am by you.”

            John smiled a bit at that, not quite ready to believe it.

            “I always thought,” Sherlock said, “that the only way to be worth something, even if people don’t like you, is to prove your value, through strength or intellect.  I thought I only wanted to be a great man.  But you, John!” He seemed excited now, with a new vigor that these words gave him.  “You’re even better than a great man.  You’re a _good_ man.  You don’t need laurels or plaques or medals.  You just carry your dignity quietly.  You’re a hero just by going out to Tesco and picking up milk.  You’re a hero for putting up with me all these years.  You’re…my hero, John Watson.  No, don’t laugh, Anderson, it’s not bloody funny.”

            Anderson quit his snickering.

            “John,” he continued, “thank you, because if it weren’t for you, I’d be quite lost.  You make me want to be a better man, so I can try to be half as good as you.  And I do love you.  I suppose you’ll want me to tell you how much—very well.  I love you with as much love as I’ve learned to have, a surprising amount.  It actually amazes me, it astounds me how much I love you.  It terrifies me, but I’ve been told that’s a good thing.  I’ve also been told I’m a stubborn man, but that’s all right.  I’ll keep on stubbornly loving you for the rest of my life, and I daresay beyond.”

            Sherlock looked over to the curly-haired woman again.  “Perhaps it’s a bit morbid to mention death at a wedding, but John—one day, I’m going to die.  Truly die.  But you have to know that even in dying, I could never leave you.  I wouldn’t let them take me.  I wouldn’t budge from where I was until whoever it is that controls the afterlife just let me wait for you before I moved on.  That’s how much I love you, John Hamish Watson.  I can’t even fathom leaving you, even in death.  Good luck getting rid of me.”

            Once again, the church laughed with the couple, and Sherlock wrapped things up.  “I promise, my blogger, to remain with you.  I won’t ever leave you.  I could never do it again.  I promise to try and be here for you as a proper husband and get the milk and tell you how happy you make me and I hope you know…that I could only ever choose you.  Marry me.  Even if you already have,” he said, dropping his voice to a whisper.  John smiled in response.

            The officiant cleared his throat.  “We will now present the rings.”  He seemed to want to draw this part out as well, but Sherlock was embarrassed enough at his display of emotion, so he grabbed the rings from him and stuffed one onto his finger.  John gave up and let Sherlock push a ring onto his left hand ring finger.  “Shall we get on with it?”

            “Er, of course,” the officiant blundered under Sherlock’s sharpness.  “I now pronounce you husband and—”

            The men ignored him and embraced each other as everyone cheered, and their kiss definitely could have gone down in the books as one of the greatest and most powerful kisses in the whole universe.


	11. Chapter 11

“Remind me to buy Mycroft a fruit basket,” John said incredulously at the grooms’ table.  The reception hall was truly a gorgeous sight—white flowers and candles were dripping off of each available surface.  Everything was tasteful, bright, and not too girly.

            “I think just deciding not to kill him is enough of a gift,” Sherlock reasoned.  The pair hadn’t stopped holding hands since they were pronounced husband and consulting detective.  When the attention seemed to be off the married couple and on the ice sculptures for a moment, Sherlock nuzzled John’s jaw and growled, “I’m bored.  Marry me.”

            “Why not?” John smirked, sneaking a kiss.  “Your vows were incredible.  I didn’t think you’d come up with any.”

            “In light of recent events, I deemed it necessary.  I hope you wrote them down because I’m not saying them again.”  His eyes flickered around the room.  “Shall we greet the well-wishers?”

            “Do we have to?”

            “I think we do.”  Sherlock pulled him up and they made their rounds in the huge reception hall. 

            “Boys, oh, I’m so proud of you!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed when she saw them, still stifling tears back in her throat.  She smoothed down their ties and fiddled with their corsages.  “You’ll be back at 221B after the honeymoon, won’t you?”

            “Of course, Mrs. Hudson.  That is,” John whinged, “if Sherlock manages to get us back alive from wherever he’s taking me.”

            “Allow me a few surprises, husband.  I can guarantee you’ll like where we’re going,” Sherlock said.  “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.  You’ll maintain the flat while we’re gone, I presume.”

            “Boys, I am _not_ your housekeeper.”

            They gave her a condescending smile and moved on, shaking Anderson and Donovan’s hands out of courtesy, and making their way to Molly’s table.  “Molly, you look gorgeous,” Sherlock said, which made the pathologist blush like mad.  He knew she would—John had reminded him to say something nice to her at the wedding.

            “Congratulations, boys.  You were made for each other,” she said.  “You remember Henry Knight, from the Baskerville case?”

            “Of course.”  John shook Henry’s hand.  “Thanks for coming.  Lovely to see you again, Henry.”

            “Likewise, John.  Congratulations, you two.  I did have a feeling you two were a thing, back on the case.  Fancy a drink, Moll?”  Henry whisked Molly off to the bar and the pathologist giggled uncontrollably, which made John feel loads better about marrying the man she’d fancied for years before.

            Mycroft, who’d made it to the reception, was currently talking with a baffled Lestrade.  “So you actually fixed the London Olympics?”

            “Do keep up, Detective Inspector.  I didn’t ‘fix’ it—we all just decided beforehand what country would win what medal.”

            “But that’s…brilliant!”  Lestrade laughed.

            Mycroft seemed intrigued that Lestrade was so impressed.  “Who do you think secured that promotion for you six years ago?”

            “You mean…that was you, too?  Bloody hell, we hadn’t even met yet.”

            “I was impressed with your work.”

            Lestrade looked awestruck.  “Er, are you doing anything after this, or…?”

            “I have a diplomatic issue to attend to.”

            “Oh.”

            “Hey, mates,” John said, effectively interrupting them.  “Thanks for coming, Greg, it’s great to see you.  Mycroft, thank you so much for everything.  The wedding was perfect.”

            “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Mycroft replied.  He seemed genuinely pleased.  “You’ll take care of my brother, then, won’t you?”

            “It’s not like I’ve been doing anything else for the past three years.”

            Sherlock grudgingly shook his brother’s hand.  “I owe you a debt of gratitude, Mycroft.  This was a…rather nice affair.”

            “Consider us even after the whole Moriarty fiasco.”

            Sherlock noticed the people he was looking for sitting at a table in the back and made to leave Lestrade and Mycroft.  “It was wonderful seeing you gentlemen.  I think now would be an appropriate time for hugging.”

            The two baffled men got up and hugged Sherlock.  While he awkwardly put his arms around Lestrade, he whispered, “Take him cake from the bakery on Northcote and he’ll follow you anywhere.”

            Lestrade gulped and nodded.  “Thanks, mate.”

            Hugging his brother next, he said, “Divorced and single, but you knew that.  What you didn’t know is that he’s practically begging you to join him in a hotel room.  Make of that what you will.”

            If Mycroft seemed excited at the prospect, he didn’t show it.  “Congratulations, Sherlock and John.  I wish you many happy years together.”

            Grabbing John’s hand, he went to the back of the reception hall, where two women were greedily eating cake.  “River Song.  I should have guessed you’d be in attendance.”

            She grinned at him with a mouthful of chocolate icing.  “As if I’d miss this party, sweetie.  By the way, if you two are ever interested in adding a third, I’ll certainly be available.  And I bring my own handcuffs.”

            “River, hi,” John coughed, pulling her into a hug.  “You look incredible in that dress.”

            “Don’t I, thought?” She ran suggestive hands over her frame, clad in an emerald green dress that clung to her curves.  “I can’t resist a wedding to show off.  You remember my amazing daughter, don’t you?”

            Clara smiled shyly at the couple before giving them a hug.  “Hi, boys.  Congratulations on your wedding—it was really beautiful.”

            “Thank you, it was,” Sherlock agreed.  “As wonderful as it is to see you two, I’m assuming it’s not merely a social visit.”

            River pouted.  “Can’t anything ever be purely friendly around here?”

            “No, never.  Explain,” Sherlock demanded, sitting down at the table with John.

            She sighed and stuffed more cake into her mouth.  “We’ve worked out a plan, Lyra and me.  We’ve been out for months, letting her learn how to control the TARDIS, and now we’ve got something together.  The Library accepted me for the expedition.”

            “That’s brilliant.  The Library planet, right?” John asked.  “You’ll find the information there?”

            “Well, that’s the idea.  The files on Netherspace will be there, and after the Doctor saves me, I’ll be able to get them.  I just can’t let him know that I already know I’m going to die.  Lyra has everything figured out,” River said with a glance to her daughter, “but she won’t tell me how it’s all going to work.  She takes after her old mum, with the spoilers and everything.”  She was about to continue until she saw something she recognized in the window across the hall.  “Excuse me, gents.  I’ll be back in a jiff.”

            She walked away, leaving a confused threesome in her wake.

            “We’ll never be able to figure her out, will we?” John asked.

            “There’s only ever been one man who could,” Clara sighed, smoothing down her yellow dress.

            “What do you know that your mother doesn’t, Clara?” Sherlock asked.  “Is this plan even going to work?”

            “Of course it is.  It’s got to.”  She tapped her fingers on the table.  “I’ve been getting used to the TARDIS, assuming my place as the new Doctor.  It hasn’t been easy, but Sexy’s been really helpful.  We went to the Library in secret to figure out what was going to happen there, and it isn’t pretty.  Mum doesn’t know yet.”

            “What’s going to happen?”

            “Vashta Neruda—these beasty monsters that live in the dark.  Mum’s going to get tangled with them, and the Doctor will be there to negotiate with them, but he has to sacrifice his own brainspace to do it.  Mum will make sure he doesn’t have to.  That’s how she dies—she gives up her mind for a computer download to save everyone.”

            “Don’t you think she should know what she’s getting into?” Sherlock asked.

            “She’ll figure it out when she gets there.  I can’t tell her…” She cleared her throat.  “I have a plan, boys.  I inspected Mum’s screwdriver—Dad saved a copy of her to it the same way he saved me to the TARDIS desktop.  He’ll plug her into the Library database network, and she’ll be able to survive as a file in the computer.  She’ll be able to find all the information in the universe on Netherspace in the system, and when she figures out how to get there, I’ll download her into the TARDIS system and we can find Netherspace together.”

            “But she’ll only be a computer file!” John said angrily.  “How will you be able to bring River back?”

            “That’s the tricky part.  I’m going to need a human body willing to let River’s mind take it over via download.  Once the TARDIS and I figure out mind-switches, it’ll be easy.  The hard part is finding someone willing to let go and let River take control, and Mum will NOT like that.”

            “I can’t imagine that anyone would.”

            “It’s the best I have, okay?” Clara said, exasperated.  “I’m not going to kill anyone—I’m going to ask all potential candidates.  Even if it takes me forever to find someone to make that sacrifice.  I’d do it myself, but someone needs to make the switch.”

            Sherlock’s grip tightened on John’s hand.  “If you’re asking John and me, the answer is no.”

            “Oh, _come on_ , of course not!” she snorted.  “I’ll find someone.  And when River’s been brought back, we can travel to Netherspace and find the Doctor.  We still have the Doctor’s body, and as long as it stays in stasis mode, we can use it to bring his mind back into a body.”

            “Why can’t you use River’s own body to bring it back?”

            She wrinkled her nose.  “It doesn’t survive her death, I’m afraid.  Rather gruesome business.”

            Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose.  “What do you need from us, Clara?  I want to help, but I don’t know how we fit into the plan.”

            “You actually do, in your own way.  It’s actually the reason I’m here, besides being with Mum before she goes.”  She reached into a briefcase beside her feet and pulled out a stack of papers.  “You’re going to want to get started on these tonight.  It will take about a year for them to go through, unless you can bribe Mycroft to put them through for you faster.”

            Sherlock snatched the papers from her and peered over them.  He frowned and gave her a bemused expression.  “Adoption papers?”

            John’s eyes bugged out of his head.  “Bloody hell, we just got married, Clara.”

            “Oh, you have a year to adjust.  He’s two months old, and his parents died a week ago in a car crash.  He’s being taken care of by a foster mother now, but he’ll be on the official adoption registry after his paperwork goes through.  And you two are going to be his parents.”

            Sherlock shook his head.  “Where exactly did you get the idea that John and I were ready to be fathers?”

            She only smiled enigmatically.  “Trust me on this one.  I’m the Doctor.”  Standing up to leave, she pecked them each on the forehead and said in passing, “He needs you two.  You’re going to love him, boys.  We need him.  I need him.”

            John choked, trying to get words out.  “You think—Sherlock—a _baby_ —blimey, I don’t think I’m ready—”

            “Bloody hell.”  Sherlock stared at the adoption papers in front of him, pulling apart the identification sheets.  There was a photo of a little baby reaching for the camera, with messy dark hair and an open smile.  “Well, shit.  He’s…”

            “Sherlock, we don’t have to listen to her.  Even if it is our future, we can wait.  She doesn’t dictate—”

            “He’s adorable.” He blinked.  “Dare we try and defy time itself?”

            John swallowed.  “We just got married.”

            “We’ve been married three times, Watson.  Perhaps it’s time we settled down and started a family.  Besides, he _needs_ us!” Sherlock exclaimed, shoving the picture of the baby in his husband’s face.  “Look at him.”

            John rolled his eyes and looked at the baby, and he immediately wished he hadn’t.  The infant was, indeed, adorable.  He felt his heart melting immediately.  “I don’t think we’re ready for this.”

            “Do you remember taking care of Bo back in Pete’s World?”

            “Of course.”

            Sherlock smiled.  “You were such a brilliant dad.  Even then.  And if you can do it, then I know I can follow your example and try and be a good father, too.”

            John put a firm hand on Sherlock’s cheek.  “You won’t have to try.  You’ll be perfect.  All right, sod it all.  We’ll finish the papers tonight and fax them to Mycroft.”

            Sherlock thanked him with a kiss.  “Shall we dance?”


	12. Chapter 12

River felt herself drifting through the crowds of well-wishers and drunk party guests, past buffet tables and a large dance floor full of gyrating couples, and out a back door to a dimly lit courtyard.  She became aware that she wasn’t merely drifting anymore, not when she saw the flash of blue—she was being pulled to the one thing in the universe that could ever anchor her.

            She stood hesitantly by a tree strung up with fairy lights, waiting for the door of the blue box to open, and her heart flopped in her chest when it did.

            “Oh—hello, River!” he said in a cheery voice, adjusting his bowtie out of habit.  He stepped out of the TARDIS and gave her a customary greeting kiss on her nose.  “You’re here, good!  You can tell me, what did I buy Sherlock and John for their wedding present?  Was it the tea cozy?”

            She only stared at him.

            “What is it?” the Doctor asked.  “Did I accidentally kiss an alien again?”

            River burst into tears—she couldn’t help it.  She wanted to save him from the spoilers, she really did, but this was too much.

            He yelped when she embraced him, throwing her arms around him and sobbing into his shirt.  Awkwardly he petted her on the back.  “Shh, shh, River, it’s okay!  I won’t do it again!  They keep throwing themselves at me, and you know how irresistible I am!”

            She snuffled a laugh into his chest.  “Shut up.  Where are you coming from?”

            “We were at Sherlock and John’s with Clara—Lyra, I mean,” he said.  “I just slipped out to see if I’d gotten them a good wedding present, since you know I’m rubbish at gifts.”  He put a finger under her chin and lifted her face to meet his.  “What’s wrong?”

            She only shook her head.  “Spoilers.”

            “No, no, no—no wife of mine is going to get away with that word when I find her crying like this.  What happened?  And where am I?  I don’t want to run into myself here.”

            She cried even harder, and he seemed to understand.

            “River.  Did I…have I…?”

            “ _Cass_ ,” she whispered, enfolding him in a tighter embrace.  That threw him—she rarely called him by his real name, even in its diminutive form.  When they were in the midst of emotional or intimate moments, they’d been known to call each other Cass and Carmine—it meant something important.

            Automatically, he wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair.  “It’s okay, River.  Whatever it is, you’re going to be okay, I promise you.”  He paused and ducked under the cover of her hair and whispered, “Did I die?”

            She didn’t answer, burying her face into his neck instead.

            That was enough of an answer.  “Oh,” he said.  He swallowed a few times.  “Serious, then.  Tell me I put on a good show, please.”

            “Cass, stop pretending this isn’t serious, for goodness’ sake!” she hissed, pulling away.  Sitting on the stone bench nearby, she cradled her head in her hands and sighed.

            “I’m just trying to lighten the mood, dear.”  He sighed and sat with her.  “You took care of it, then.  I have nothing to worry about.  Was it quick?”

            “Not really.”

            “Ouch.  Well, doesn’t matter.  Are you safe?  Is Lyra all right?”

            “We’re all fine.  You bloody well saved us the way you always do.”  She wiped at her nose and gratefully took the handkerchief the Doctor gave her.  “I’m sorry.  Don’t tell us, when you go back to your own time.  I shouldn’t have told you anything.”

            “You can’t keep anything from me, Carmine.  Not for long.”  He put an arm around her shoulder.  “You’ll see me again, soon.  You have my screwdriver, right?”

            River smiled bitterly to herself.  The Doctor already knew she was going to the Library.  She couldn’t tell him that she knew, as well, even if he was so sure he could guess.  “I do.  And don’t you worry—I’m going to find a way to save you.  I’m already working on it.”

            “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t counting on it.  But please don’t worry about it, darling.  If I’m gone, it’s okay.  You know things aren’t meant to last.”

            “ _We’re_ meant to last,” she insisted.  “We’re supposed to be something that lasts forever.  I can’t just let that go.  And I’m going to be meeting versions of you who won’t even recognize me.  I’ll meet versions of you that won’t know that we’re married, or how much I love you, and I don’t think I can deal with that.”

            “You can, and you will.  For me,” he said.  He kissed her gently and booped her on the nose.  “If this is the last chance I’ll get to say it—”

            “ _Don’t_ —”

            “—then I’m going to say it.  I love you, River Song, more than all the universe.  It will be an honor to die by your hands.”  He tried to communicate that is was going to be all right through his smile, but River wasn’t having it.  “Come on, then—it’s a wedding, and I always dance at weddings.  Can you be my last dance?”

            With a heavy heart, River stared at the hand he offered her and took it, drawing closer to him as a jazzy tune leaked out of the window and into the courtyard.  The Doctor led her in slow circles, rubbing her back comfortingly.  “You must be lonely now.”

            “You wouldn’t believe how much.”

            “I think I know a thing or too about loneliness.”

            “Not like this,” she said, shaking her head.

            “Is Lyra doing all right?”

            “She’s coping.  Taking over your job—the TARDIS likes her well enough, now.”

            “Brilliant.  I knew they’d get along eventually.”  He glanced at his wrist watch.  “I think I need to go.  I can’t have Lyra see me, or the boys, if they know I’m dead.”

            “Can’t you just stay?” she asked through tears.  “You’re always coming and going, sweetie, and I can never follow you—can I ask for just one more night?”

            “Haven’t we tampered with time enough, darling?”

            “You owe me one, for what I did for you.”  She grabbed him by the wrists and gave him the sexiest smile she could manage.  “Leave tomorrow morning.  For one more night, let’s run, and then you can go back.”  It was then that she understood what the Doctor had said to her in the moments before his death.

_"I’m remembering it now—the night after Sherlock and John’s wedding.  It’s what I’m going to think about.”_

_“What are you talking about?”_

_“You’ll understand soon.  Goodbye, my mad lady.  I love you.”_

She swallowed and smoothed the hair out of his eyes.  “You told me you were going to think about it, when you died.  You told me you’d think of this night when it happened.  It’s not messing with a timeline if it’s already going to happen.”

“Did I, now?” He smirked at her.  “All right.  One more night to run, you and me, one last time.  The Doctor and his mad lady, the greatest love story in the universe.”

She nodded calmly.  “You and me.”

And she leaned in and kissed her madman, and he tasted exactly like starfire.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter--sorry, it's been a whopper of an upload, but I wanted this story out there before the series 7 finale! I'd love any feedback or opinions, really. My sister hates me for what I wrote about Trenzalor, but maybe this final chapter will appease you (and her). Behold, the final chapter of Dreams of Hollow Planets!
> 
> And yes, wonderful readers, there's going to be one final story in the Uncreatively Named Trilogy. If anyone has a better suggestion for the Trilogy Name, be sure to leave it in the comments. Oh, and the last story shall be a fun, inter-dimensional romp with new characters from both Who, Sherlock, and my mind, as well as old enemies. And perhaps the timey-wimeyest rescue there ever was/is/will be.
> 
> If you enjoyed my story, be sure to check out my fanfiction.net page, BroadwayStarletQueen (as well), and see some of my one-shots. I've written less lengthy, more canonical stuff, I swear!
> 
> So long and thanks for all the fish!

John and Sherlock were waltzing close to each other as the evening drew to a close, and the guests trickled away.  Lestrade was seen dragging a man with an umbrella out to a limousine, and Henry and Molly were spotted holding hands and going to a local pub together.

            Clara spent an hour searching for River, but her mother had disappeared.  With a shrug, she figured that her mother could take care of herself, so she left the party without a word and took the TARDIS to some far reach of the universe.

            Donovan noticed, before she left, the same curly-haired woman she’d seen enter the church in the back corner of the outdoor gardens, thoroughly snogging some man in the shadows before laughing and pulling him off somewhere.  The mysterious pair broke into a run and escaped together.

            Only a few people were left on the dance floor, with some tipsy stragglers and a few longtime couples, and of course the newlyweds.  However, Sherlock and John seemed far too wrapped up in each other to notice when a dark-haired woman took the floor with her date.

            She crossed her arms in disdain.  “I gave them the papers—they’re wasting time.”

            “Give them a break, Clara.  They’ve only been married a few bloody hours, and look how cute they are!” Her dark-haired date ran a few fingers through his messy hair.  “I’m sorry I missed the ceremony, though.  Shouldn’t you be better at driving the TARDIS by now?  You’ve had her, what, three years now?”

            “What are you, my mother?” she laughed, segueing into a sloppy waltz.  “The TARDIS goes where she wants to, and you _know_ that.  Rule 1 of TARDIS flying.”

            “Which is why you don’t let me drive her, you goose.”  He tweaked her nose.  “Thanks for taking me here, dear.”

            “I figured I owed you one, Mish.  But I get to pick the location next time.  Have you seen me around?”

            “You happen to be right in front of me.”

            “You know what I mean—younger me.”

            “She left hours ago.  She’s all depressed, remember?”

            “Oh, she’s in for a surprise.”  She smiled and kept dancing.  “It’s fun to know the future, isn’t it?”

 

 


End file.
